Psych: Christmas Mourning
by spookysister7
Summary: "I killed him." I flinched, closing my eyes so I couldn't see the smug look on his face. Carlton. "I killed the kid and his old man, too," Daemon added. "No," I said. Not Shawn. Not Henry. No. Sequel to Halloween Knights and Thanksgiving Daze.
1. Chapter 1: Never Gonna Be Alone

**Psych: Christmas Mourning**

Summary: The trial is over. Two of the three men hunting Angeline are dead. Lassie has big plans for their future. But something's gone terribly, terribly wrong. Sequel to Halloween Knights and Thanksgiving Daze.

AN: Chapter title from 'Never Gonna Be Alone' by Nickelback.

"From this moment on, if you ever feel like letting go, I won't let you fall... You're never gonna be alone, I'll hold you 'til the hurt is gone."

**Chapter 1: Never Gonna Be Alone**

Lucien was dead.

It wouldn't have been a big deal normally. He'd been shot, after all. But that wasn't what had killed him.

He'd died of pneumonia.

Sure, the gunshot complicated things. The blood loss alone…

Carlton sighed and rubbed shaky hands over his face, beyond exhausted.

The machine beeped and hissed; a constant reminder of where he was, as if the smell wasn't enough of a hint.

Angeline was flush with fever, her every breath a terrible quiet wheeze through the oxygen mask.

They'd never made it home. Or to Henry's. Whatever.

The bug had struck during the night, her fever shooting dangerously high. The piles of warming blankets were replaced by ice packs. He could almost admire the irony.

It had been two days. Two days and the fever still raged.

Two days and six hours. That was how long Lucien had lasted before his body shut down.

It was two days and two hours since Angeline's fever had started.

She was weak from exposure.

"You are not going to die," Carlton growled, standing and pacing the length of her bed- two steps one way, turn, two steps the other. Everything terrible, terrible two.

The two-year-old was fine. Karen was taking no chances; she'd had Iris on antibiotics from the moment he'd told her of Angeline's sudden illness.

Only two people were allowed in the room. Henry and himself. Everyone else was strictly forbidden. Henry was only allowed in for those few times he was forced to leave her side- twice.

The mask was an annoying necessity; one he hardly noticed after two days and two hours.

Two.

The two men that had attacked them were dead.

The two idiots were having no more luck than the department in tracking Daemon.

Two days, two hours, and twenty-two minutes.

The fever broke.

It was two hours, twelve minutes, and twenty seconds before she opened her eyes.

Her two dark eyes looked into his two blue ones.

The two of them smiled.

-000-

The trial was over. She'd done well.

Her voice, weak but calm, slowly, carefully dug her brother's grave.

Every detail described, every hurt catalogued, every name mentioned.

Her eyes were dry when she finished.

The jury's eyes were not.

Carlton took her hand and led her from the courtroom. There was no reason to wait for the sentencing.

He held her in the car as she broke down.

There were many things he could say. He could rant and rave. He could promise retribution. He could swear to keep her safe.

He didn't.

He just held her tightly and let her cry against his chest.

Love, after all, is an action.

And he was a man of action.

-000-

He felt odd, still staying at Henry's. They could have left, could have stayed at a hotel at the very least, but Spencer Senior had gone over his head. He'd spoken to Angeline in some brief time they'd been left alone and convinced her to stay, at least until she had her strength back.

Of course, Henry knew they were a package deal. Carlton hadn't even given a thought to going home by himself. Where she was, there he would stay.

Carlton had gone back to work. Three hundred days of vacation or not, paperwork waited for no man. Light duty was all he was cleared for, even though it had been over a month since he was shot.

In that way, he was thankful that Henry had interceded. Angeline was still weak, tiring with very little movement. Her breath wheezed lightly, keeping him awake at night, his heart in his throat. Henry kept an eye on her. Made sure she ate and rested and stayed warm.

Carlton chuckled under his breath, earning him an amused look from Juliet. Henry was a mother hen, and he'd practically adopted Angeline- and Carlton, to some extent. Shawn would have a hissy fit at the thought of having Lassiter for a brother and it sent a shiver down Lassiter's spine, nevertheless it was true.

Speaking of Shawn, his visits were regular. Almost every night now he came to dinner. Arguing was kept to a minimum for Angeline's sake, so most of the meal was eaten in silence. But it was a companionable silence.

Carlton's work hours had shifted. He no longer worked overtime, even if he did have paperwork piling up on his desk. Some days he even left early, but he didn't go home right away.

He'd spoken to Henry before he'd made this last leap. The man had some good advice despite being divorced himself.

He didn't have a lot of money, so he knew it would take time. But with the market the way it was, hopefully he could get something that wasn't completely run down.

There was one place he had been to twice. It was promising, though it was little more than an unfinished shell at this point. It would take work, that was for sure, but he could afford it.

Besides, with Henry's help, it wouldn't take half as long. Henry had offered or he never would have thought of asking the older man to help him, but the help was more than welcome. He knew when he was in over his head, and a house was not something he could tackle on his own. At least not while working too.

When the sale of his old house was finalized, which should be any day now, he'd have the down payment.

There was only one thing left to get.

"Hey Jules!" Shawn greeted, startling Lassiter from his thoughts.

"Hey Shawn, where's Gus?" O'Hara asked, smiling as the psychic perched on the edge of her desk.

"Apparently," Shawn sighed, "He's got _real_ work to do today."

Juliet smiled and patted his hand comfortingly.

"Unfortunately, Shawn, so do I. I'm due in court in fifteen minutes."

Shawn groaned theatrically as Juliet stood and gathered her things.

"I'm so _bored_! Is there no one to amuse me?"

Juliet just shook her head and shrugged.

"Sorry, Shawn, you'll have to amuse yourself, I guess."

She left as he pouted, head on his fist like 'The Thinker'.

Carlton returned to his paperwork, expecting the psychic to move on now that O'Hara had left.

After a long silence, Carlton felt like someone was watching him. He looked up to find Spencer staring at him thoughtfully.

"What?" Carlton asked defensively.

Spencer slid off of O'Hara's desk and looked around before approaching.

"Lassie, can I give you some advice?" Spencer asked, frowning.

Lassiter stiffened, jaw clenching.

"What kind of advice?" he growled. Spencer hadn't been as annoying as usual since Halloween, and had actually been somewhat helpful at times. Still, listening to him went against the grain.

Shawn smiled, apparently taking the question as a go ahead.

"Remember the rule: Treat a woman like a person, then a princess, then a Greek goddess, then a person again," he said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lassiter asked with a glare.

Spencer slid the corner of the jewelry booklet out from under the paperwork that had concealed it. He looked up at Lassiter seriously and then tucked the booklet back into hiding.

"It means keep it simple. She doesn't want anything flashy, just thoughtful. A reminder." Shawn said, leaning forward, his palms braced against the edge of the desk, "And one last thing…"

"What?" Lassiter asked, uncomfortable with serious Shawn.

"Don't hurt her. Do it right or don't do it at all. She's been through enough."

Lassiter looked up at him in surprise. He was almost intimidating.

"I know," Carlton said quietly.

Shawn nodded and sprung away, smile reappearing as he bounced out of the station.


	2. Chapter 2: Don't You Wanna Stay

AN: Chapter title from 'Don't You Wanna Stay' by Jason Aldean

"Don't you wanna stay here a little while? Don't you wanna hold each other tight? Don't you wanna fall asleep with me tonight?"

Well, this chapter fought me tooth and nail. Still don't love it, but I'm not holding on to it any longer!

**Chapter 2: Don't You Wanna Stay**

The house had sold. He had the money now.

He bought the place down on the beach. It was in a good spot. Halfway between Henry's and the station.

The land was good. No history of flooding. The foundation was solid, but no basement.

It was perfect.

Carlton waited impatiently for Angeline to come downstairs.

He'd changed his tie. The dark suit was fine, but he knew the dark blue of this tie brought out his eyes. Not that he thought about things like that all the time, but he knew that women liked his eyes.

Angeline did.

She was always looking at his eyes. Even from that first moment…

O'Hara had taken Angeline shopping on her lunch break.

It was a shock to see them giggling like school girls when they returned, arms heavy-laden.

O'Ha- Juliet had pursued the relationship, of course. She was nothing if not tenacious. He'd known that she wouldn't rest until Angeline could at least look her in the eye.

O'Hara never did anything half-way. But he never expected to see Angeline looking so… comfortable around her.

It was scary, frankly. If the two of them teamed up for anything more sinister than the date he'd scheduled for tonight… he might actually be in trouble.

Who was he kidding? He was in trouble now.

Angeline was coming down the stairs. Her dress was satin, a plum color. A slightly lighter outline of purple flowers twirled across the silky material, clinging to her curves. The dress nearly reached the floor, flaring out slightly to reveal tiny glimpses of silver kitten-heeled pumps.

"You look beautiful," he managed, swallowing as she smiled shyly up at him from under her artfully up-done hair.

He picked up her wrap and draped it carefully around her shoulders, mostly revealed by the cap sleeves of her gown. The modest neckline dipped slightly, accented by a thin silver chain. His fingers skimmed across the cool metal and he felt her shiver.

"I thought," she whispered, turning to face him, "That I'd spend some of that money I have now."

The courts had awarded her the home she'd grown up in, which she promptly had him sell for way less than it was worth just to get rid of it. He'd helped her set up a bank account with it, and she could live quite happily on that money for quite a while, despite the short sell. Not that she had to.

"Are you ready?" Carlton asked, holding out his arm.

"Yes," she said with a nod, her back straight and posture regal.

He suddenly felt like she was Audrey Hepburn and he was Gregory Peck.

And it was time to go dancing.

-000-

He'd picked a quiet restaurant.

It was a Thursday night, so there were few people. He didn't want to overwhelm her.

"You okay?" he asked, watching her pick at her food.

For once, he was thankful for the small portions these kinds of restaurants served. He felt like he was on a first date, only worse because he actually liked her.

"Yeah," she said, offering him a shaky smile.

He took a deep breath. It was now or never. He could do this.

He stood and offered her his hand.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked.

She looked out at the nearly empty dance floor and bit her lip. She looked up at him.

"Yes," she said with a small nod, standing and taking his hand.

Her hand was icy cold as he clasped it and accompanied her to the dance floor.

The small band was playing something slow, the guitar a gentle accompaniment.

He raised their left hands into position and wrapped his right hand around her waist. Her free hand rested on his shoulder and she looked up questioningly at him.

"Ready?" he rasped, anxiety escaping with his voice.

She smiled and nodded.

They danced.

-000-

There was no one else in the room. She was the only one. Her head rested on his chest, her hands on his shoulders.

His hands were wrapped tightly around her waist, holding her close.

He hummed along with the music. She raised her head to look up at him.

"You know this one?" she asked quietly, "What are the words?"

He chuckled.

"It's been a long time, I don't remember them all," he said, "Something like: 'The very thought of you, and I forget to do, the little ordinary things that everyone ought to do… I see your face in every flower; your eyes in stars above. It's just the thought of you, the very thought of you, my love.'"

She laughed and stretched up to kiss his cheek.

"That's nice," she said softly, swaying with him as the song changed.

"I know this one, too," he said thoughtfully.

"Tell me," she bid.

"'At last, my love has come along. My lonely days are over… And life is like a song,'" he sang softly, surprising her.

She pulled back a little and stared up into his deep blue eyes.

"Is it true?" she asked, her voice just audible.

He kissed her.

-000-

It was cold when they left the restaurant. He kept his arm around her shoulders as the valet retrieved his car, holding her close.

They drove home to Henry's in silence.

They slipped in quietly through the door, trying not to wake Henry.

"Angeline…" Carlton started, feeling the unspoiled evening slip through his fingers. He should have answered her question. He should have told her what she meant to him. He should have…

"Thank you, Carlton," Angeline said, smiling up at him, "It was perfect."

"Oh," Carlton said, blinking quickly, "Um, great. I mean, I'm glad you… liked it."

He stood and watched her walk to the stairs, feeling a little muddled.

This was usually the point at which he'd kiss the girl goodnight and then go home, but he lived here, so…

"I might need some help with this zipper," Angeline said, looking over her shoulder at him.

"Uh…" Carlton said, mouth hanging open like a fish. He usually wasn't so slow on the up-take, but tonight he felt like he was walking through a fog. "Sure," he croaked out finally, stumbling towards her.

He was halfway up the stairs, watching the sultry rhythm of her hips as she ascended before him when he really registered her meaning.

He could imagine that the long zipper, trailing from the base of her neck down her spine all the way to her… Yes, she might need some help with that, after all.

That's what he was there for- to protect and serve.

-000-

"Saturday," Carlton said, brushing his hand through her hair as she lay on his bare chest, "I've got something to show you."

"What?" Angeline asked sleepily.

"It's a surprise."

She looked up at him, mock-glaring.

"I don't like surprises."

He chuckled.

"You'll like this one," he promised. She smiled at him and then laid her head back down with a soft sigh.

She had to like it. Everything had to be perfect.

Carlton glanced over at his jacket, carefully draped across the desk.

Everything had to be perfect.


	3. Chapter 3: Marry Me

AN: Well, it was supposed to go perfectly for them. Unfortunately, Carlton got away from me. And I had all this romanticism planned, too! Darn that bull-headed Irishman!

Chapter title from Train's 'Marry Me'.

"Now that the weight has lifted; love has surely shifted my way. Marry me, today and every day. Marry me, if I ever get the nerve to say…"

**Chapter 3: Marry Me**

He was a nervous wreck.

He unpacked and repacked the picnic basket for the fourth time, making sure he'd remembered everything.

"It's fine," Henry said confidently, clapping him on the back, "Everything will be fine. Don't worry so much."

Carlton sighed and leaned heavily on the counter, head hanging.

"It's too soon," he muttered, "I'm going too fast. Pushing her."

"It'll be fine," Henry assured again, leaning back against the counter to look at him, "You've got plenty of time to freak out _after _she answers you."

Carlton looked over at him and raised an eyebrow.

Henry smiled enigmatically.

"What? You thought the asking was the hard part?" he said with a shake of his head.

Carlton opened his mouth to remind Spencer Senior that he had been married once before, thank you very much, when he heard Angeline coming down the stairs.

"Carlton?" she called, smiling as she came into the kitchen, "There you are! What's that?"

"Lunch," Carlton said simply, lifting the basket and giving her a quick kiss, "Are you ready?" he asked, looking her over.

She was wearing a stylish pair of dark jeans and a soft lavender sweater, the simple brown cowboy boots adding a flare to her outfit. It'd do.

He was similarly dressed in jeans and a navy blue sweater, his suede bucks exchanged for a pair of hardier, though no less stylish, dark leather hiking boots.

They had to dress warmly because, despite the sun's best efforts, it was still December and that meant chilly ocean breezes.

"Where are we going? Why's lunch in a basket?" Angeline asked happily, taking his free hand as they left Henry's and started to walk down the beach.

"We're going to have a picnic," Carlton answered her second question, avoiding the first.

"What's that?" she asked.

He looked over at her in surprise.

"You don't know?" he asked.

She blushed and looked down.

"Umm, no. Not really," she muttered.

Carlton sighed quietly. He didn't mean to make her feel stupid. He wanted everything to go perfect today.

"Hey," he said, nudging her with his hip, "It's okay. A picnic is eating a meal outside, that's all."

"Oh," she said softly, "Oh!" she looked up and smiled, "With the red and white checkered blankets on the ground!"

"Sometimes," Carlton said with a puzzled nod.

"I've seen pictures! I just never knew they were called picnics. Sounds like fun!" she said, happily swinging their hands as they walked.

Relieved that he hadn't messed everything up, yet, Carlton smiled.

She chattered cheerfully as they walked along the seashore.

"Juliet's so nice," Angeline said, "She's not half as scary as I thought she'd be. She's really smart, too. Did you know that she got a 98.4 on her detective's exam?"

"I know," Carlton said, teeth gritting.

"She showed me how to put on make-up, and what colors work best, and all that girly stuff that I never…" Angeline fell silent, frowning.

Carlton looked over at her. Her eyes were shining wetly. She wasn't going to…

"Hey," he said, stopping and bending down to look into her eyes, "You okay?"

"Yeah," she sniffed, looking away.

Carlton released her hand, set the picnic basket down, and cupped her cheek.

"What's wrong?" he asked, replaying the last few seconds of conversation. She'd been perfectly happy, what had happened?

She surprised him, throwing her arms around him and burying her face in his sweater.

"Thank you," she mumbled.

"For what?" Carlton asked, his arms wrapping naturally around her as he stooped to hear her words.

She turned her head so her voice wasn't as muffled.

"I never thought I'd have a friend," she said.

"What about me? I don't count?" Carlton pouted playfully, still confused.

Angeline chuckled and squeezed him tight.

"Of course. And Shawn and Gus and Henry are my friends, too. But I meant a girl-friend. Someone I was sure liked me for more than…" she cut herself off, biting her lip.

Carlton frowned and glared down at her. He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her off of him, his fingers tightening around her arms.

"Stop," he commanded.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and frightened. She swallowed hard, shrinking down under his fiery glare.

"I told you to stop that!" he growled, shaking her slightly.

"I-I'll stop," she stuttered, her voice high, "I promise! Please," she whispered.

He let out a huff of air and released her, surprised when she fell to her knees in the sand before him.

He reached down to help her up but stopped short when she cringed away, ducking her head.

"Angeline?" he asked, brow furrowing.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she pleaded quietly, hunching as if expecting a blow.

Carlton just stared. He… She… He hadn't meant... He was trying to help her.

What had he done?

"No," he whispered, falling to his knees and gently reaching out to hold her, "I'm sorry," he said, "I'm so, so sorry. I never should have…"

He bent his head down to meet her eyes.

"I will never hit you," he promised, "Never."

"It's my fault," she said quietly, "I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, it's not your fault," he muttered, "It's mine. I was just… It doesn't matter. I was wrong."

Carlton sighed deeply.

"Look, if I ever… If I ever start to scare you, please, tell me. I don't ever want you to be scared of me. Please," he begged, his throat tight.

She pulled away from him.

What if he'd screwed it up? What if she ran away now? She had money, means. She could leave. She could…

"Do you love me?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered immediately, blinking as the word popped from him like a cork from a bottle.

"Do you like me?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yes," he said confidently.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"Do you love me?"

"Yes," she answered softly.

He didn't open his eyes.

"Do you like me?" he whispered.

She didn't answer.

After a few seconds, he forced his eyes open. He wanted to touch her, but he dug his fingers into the rough sand instead.

She was looking at him, tears running down her face.

He looked down. He wouldn't ask again. He'd screwed it up. Just like Victoria. What good did it do to have their love if he couldn't have them?

"Yes," she whispered, her fingertips brushing away the tear on his cheek.

He looked up at her, brow furrowing.

"Yes," she said again, louder, "Yes, I like you. Yes, I love you. Yes, Carlton," her voice broke on his name like a wave against the cliffs.

Without looking away he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the little white box.

"Marry me," he said simply, opening the box to reveal a silver band.

She touched the ring with the same gentleness that she touched his face.

"Yes," she said, looking up to meet his eyes.

"Yes."

He shuddered a sigh.

"Thank you," he breathed silently.

"It's beautiful," she said, removing the ring and bringing it close to examine it.

Finely engraved vines encircled the ring, so light that they were almost invisible unless you really looked.

"I had them write something inside," Carlton said softly.

Angeline glanced up at him, surprised. Tilting the ring, her forehead scrunched as she squinted to read the engraving.

"I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine. Sg 6:3." She read haltingly.

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears.

"It's from the Bible," he said quickly, "Song of Solomon."

"Do you mean it?" she asked, slipping on the ring. He was happy to see it fit her perfectly. At least he got that much right.

"Wouldn't have said it if I didn't," he replied.

She kissed him deeply, her ring cold against the back of his neck as she pulled him closer.

"It's perfect," she said as she pulled away, tears still in her eyes, "I love you."

"I love you, too."


	4. Chapter 4: Anna Sun

AN: Another hard chapter. I'm not so good at mushy stuff. Made myself tear up, though, so should be good. Haha.

Chapter title from 'Anna Sun' by Walk the Moon (check them out on Bandcamp!)

"Screen falling off the door; door hanging off the hinges. My feet are still sore; my back is on the fringes. We tore up the walls; we slept on couches. We lifted this house. We lifted this house."

**Chapter 4: Anna Sun**

"Where are we going?" Angeline asked, spinning the ring around her finger.

Carlton lifted the basket as they walked.

"Still have to eat lunch, don't we?" he asked.

She smiled up at him and nodded.

Finally, they reached the top of a dune. Below them was a small house, barely kept together and obviously in need of repair, but still somehow charming.

A balcony overlooked the sea. The house itself was raised above sea level by a huge boulder, which served as a natural foundation. Behind the house was a green patch of grass and weeds, the furrows marking where a flourishing garden used to be. Ivy crawled up the back of the house, blending with wisteria as it reached the wrap-around porch. Huge clusters of lilac-colored flowers dripped from the trellis, shading the front stoop.

"Oh!" Angeline exclaimed, "It's so cute!"

"Glad you like it," Carlton said with a secretive smile, "Come on!" he exclaimed, excitedly clambering down the embankment, still holding her hand.

She followed him, grinning mischievously as they ran towards the house.

Carlton stopped and set the basket down on the porch.

"We're going to eat here?" Angeline asked, looking around, "Do you think it's okay? Won't the owners mind?"

"They won't mind," Carlton said, smirking, his hands on his hips.

Angeline mimicked his position and cocked her head, fighting back a smile of her own.

"And how do you know that?" she asked challengingly.

"Because," Carlton said, leaning in and lowering his voice like he was going to tell her a secret, "We own it."

He leaned back as she blinked quickly, the words registering.

"I… you… we… You bought it?" she asked, her hands covering her mouth.

"Yep!" Carlton popped, nodding proudly as he looked up at the place.

Angeline lowered her hands.

"But you have a house?"

"Had. Sold it. Didn't like it much, anyway," he said with a deprecating shrug.

He glanced over at her.

"So… do you like it?" he asked.

"It's… It's… Wonderful!" she exclaimed, backing away to get the whole view.

He laughed.

"Well, not yet! But it will be. Henry said he'd help me fix it up…"

"Henry knows?" Angeline asked.

Carlton nodded.

"Do you want a tour?" Carlton asked, practically bouncing in excitement.

"Yes!" Angeline said, taking his offered hand.

"Well, first we'll have to get the electricity up to code, and then I think we'll work on replacing the drywall…" Carlton said, pointing out the problems with a giddy enthusiasm.

Angeline just listened, nodding as she grinned up at him happily.

A home. They were going to have a home together.

-000-

They sat on the front porch, below the hanging wisteria, and ate.

He'd remembered the tablecloth, though it was blue checkered, not red.

The bottles of water were still cold, dripping condensation as they were ignored in favor of the hot cocoa, fresh from the thermos.

"I think I can make a couple of rocking chairs from the wood we have to tear down," Carlton said, eyeing the aforementioned wood.

"It'd be nice to have a place to sit comfortably and look at the ocean," Angeline agreed, leaning against the thin pillar.

Carlton looked over at her.

Her windblown hair wisped across her pink cheeks, flushed from the cold. Her hands were wrapped tightly around the mug of cocoa. His ring seemed to glow on her finger.

His ring.

She was his now. And he was hers.

He'd make it work this time, he promised himself. He'd work less and talk more. He'd be there when she needed him. He'd tell her how much he…

"I love you," he blurted out.

She tore her eyes from the sea and smiled at him.

"Love you," she said softly, wiping aside the hair that threatened to cover her eyes.

Her eyes. Those lovely, dark eyes. So old and mature and bright and hopeful.

"I mean it," he said, setting down his cup and leaning forwards.

"I know," she said, teasingly holding up her be-ringed hand.

He smiled crookedly. It wasn't enough. He had to show her. He had to…

"Carlton," Angeline said, gently reproving, "I _know_."

He frowned, shaking his head slightly.

With a sigh, Angeline set down her mug, stood, and walked the short distance between them. She stopped and turned around and sat between his legs, leaning back on his chest.

"I know," she whispered, drawing his arms around her stomach and covering his hands with her own.

He rested his chin atop her head and followed her gaze out into the endless sea.

Home.

-000-

It was dark by the time they made it back to Henry's.

There was so much to talk about. Did she like to garden? Did they want the master bedroom downstairs or upstairs? What colors were they going to use? Carpet or wood?

"You promise you won't hurt the plants?" Angeline prodded again, and Carlton laughed.

"I swear! We won't harm a leaf on the vine. Besides, plants are a natural insulator. It's just practical."

"They're pretty," Angeline corrected, grinning over at him.

"Practical."

"Pretty."

"Prac-tic-al."

"Pretty!"

"Arg!" Carlton exclaimed, smiling as he shook his head, "Fine! You win. They're pretty."

"Get used to that," Henry said, smiling as he watched them from the back porch, "You're always going to lose."

"You knew!" Angeline accused playfully.

Henry grinned.

"Yep. So, I'm guessing…" he trailed off, gesturing towards the beach.

"She said yes," Carlton said proudly, squeezing her hand.

"And I love the house. It's just perfect!" Angeline added.

Henry scoffed, but smiled.

"Perfect? It's one step away from being condemned. But, congratulations anyway."

"Thank you," Carlton said sincerely, wrapping his arm around Angeline's shoulders.

"For everything," Angeline added.

"Pfft!" Henry huffed, waving his hand, "I'm going to bed. All the _love_ out here is making me ill."

The screen door slammed shut behind him.

"I call dibs on telling Shawn!" he called.

Carlton's eyes widened and he looked down at Angeline, panicked.

"You don't think Shawn will want to throw me a bachelor's party, do you?" he asked.

-000-

Juliet's happy squeal could be heard for miles.

"Sweet lady justice! I think you broke my eardrum," Lassiter grumbled as Juliet hugged him tightly.

"I'm so happy for you!" she said, finally releasing him.

"Both of you!" she added, hugging Angeline as well.

"Thank you," Angeline said softly, blushing as Juliet released her death grip.

"Oh! The ring! Can I see?" O'Hara asked, practically dancing around Angeline.

"I'm outta here," Lassiter mumbled, slipping out of the interrogation room before he was subjected to any more hugging.

"He engraved it?" O'Hara squealed just as the door shut behind him.

He was never going to live this down.

"What are you looking at?" he growled at McNabb, who was grinning goofily at him.

Buzz hugged him, pulling away before Lassiter could blink.

"Congratulations, sir!" Buzz said, turning tail and running away in fear of Lassiter's oncoming wrath.

He was doomed.


	5. Chapter 5: Dreams

AN: I had to start the action. I HAD to. Don't hate me.

Chapter title from 'Dreams' by the Cranberries.

"And now I tell you openly, you have my heart so don't hurt me. You're what I couldn't find. A totally amazing mind, so understanding and so kind; you're everything to me. Oh, my life is changing every day, in every possible way. And oh, my dreams, it's never quite as it seems, 'cause you're a dream to me."

Chapter 5: Dreams

The next week was filled with dust and demolition.

Lassiter's 'home life' consisted of a sledge hammer and a trash bin. He had to do all the heavy lifting because Henry's back just didn't allow him to lift a thirty pound hammer repeatedly, and Angeline had trouble lifting it even once. Besides, there was plenty light work to do. While Henry worked on the wiring, Angeline started to clear out the weeds, ending up dirtier than a kid making mud pies.

Carlton and Henry subtly kept her away from the dust-filled house, worried about her lungs. She was still coughing from time to time. The pneumonia had really done a number on her.

They hardly ever saw each other, but it was a happy busyness.

Friday night was designated break night, and when Lassiter got home from a long day of booking criminals, he was happy to see Angeline's dirt-coated face grinning up at him.

"You're early!" she exclaimed, hugging him.

"You're dirty," Carlton said with a chuckle, wrapping his arms around her anyway.

She pulled away, a look of wide-eyed embarrassment on her face.

"Oh, no! I got you all dirty! Sorry!"

Carlton shrugged, looking down at the dusty outline on his grey jacket.

"It needed to be cleaned anyway."

"Let me take a quick shower and I'll be ready to go, 'kay?" Angeline said with a happy skip in her step.

He reached out and grabbed her arm before she got too far, spinning her around. He kissed her, ignoring the musky scent of soil and weeds.

"I'll join you," he said quietly when he pulled away, amused by the dazed expression on her face.

"Oh," Angeline breathed, looking up into his eyes, his pupils nearly obscuring the icy blueness.

"Oh," she said again, surprised, "Oh, yes. Most definitely," she rasped, her voice lowering to a seductive whisper.

They stumbled up the stairs, hardly taking their eyes, or hands, from one another. Henry had just left when Lassiter had arrived, meeting Shawn and Gus for dinner, so they had the house to themselves for a few hours.

Their clothes made a trail into the bathroom where, after a deliciously tactile and thorough wash, the couple managed to get back to the bedroom.

-000-

"Still want to go out?" Carlton asked, carding his fingers through her hair as she lay on his chest.

"Mm-mm," Angeline murmured, snuggling into his side, "I'm happy here."

A knock on the door disturbed them.

"Oh, Lassifrass!" Shawn called teasingly, "I found some of your belongings out here that I'd thought you might want…"

Lassiter frowned and rolled his eyes. The only thing Spencer could have found was his clothes. It wasn't as if…

Lassiter sat up with a start and looked around quickly.

"My baby!" he squeaked.

Grabbing a pair of boxers and hastily throwing them on, Lassiter cracked the door open and scowled down at Shawn.

Shawn raised the holster and gun, dangling it from one finger.

Lassiter snatched it from him and slammed the door.

"You're welcome!" Shawn called with a snicker, "By the way, nice undies!"

Angeline laughed too as Lassiter looked down.

Of course. It had to be the hand-cuff boxers he'd gotten as a secret Santa gift last year.

"Glad to see they fit!" Spencer said.

"You!" Lassiter sputtered, his eyes wide as he realized who his 'secret Santa' must have been.

Spencer laughed.

"Shawn! You're going to miss dessert!" Guster called from downstairs.

"Be right there!" Spencer screamed back, making Lassiter wince.

"Three, two…" Carlton mumbled, making Angeline raise an eyebrow.

"If you two lovebirds want any _more_ dessert, you better come get it! And dress appropriately; I don't need to be more scarred than I already am!" Spencer said, stomping down the stairs before Lassiter could let loose his ire on him.

"Gonna know the meaning of scarred when I get through with him," Lassiter growled, flopping back onto the bed.

"I am hungry," Angeline said, tracing across his ribs with one finger.

Carlton raised an eyebrow and she laughed, swatting him gently on the shoulder.

"For _food_," she clarified, and then kissed him.

"Though a snack later isn't out of the equation," she said when she pulled away, letting the sheet drop from her body.

Carlton smirked and watched as she slipped on her clothes.

"Coming?" she asked, waiting for him at the door.

He grinned roguishly and she rolled her eyes with a smile, shaking her head.

-000-

"Shawn!" Henry snapped, fighting to keep the smirk off his face.

"What?" Shawn asked defensively, still grinning like a loon, "All I asked is that they keep it down so I can get my beauty sleep! We do share a wall, you know!"

Angeline blushed and hid her face in Lassiter's chest. Carlton felt his face turn red, embarrassed anger rising like a tide.

"If you didn't infest your apartment with vermin, we wouldn't be sharing a wall," Carlton growled.

"If you don't like the arrangement, you can always go back to your fleas," Henry added.

"One night!" Shawn said, throwing up his hands, "That's all I ask! First thing tomorrow I buy bug bombs and I'm good to go."

"And not a minute too soon," Henry grumbled.

They all trailed upstairs to their separate bedrooms, Carlton's ears still red.

-000-

It was the smell that woke him.

The sickly sweet aroma was faint, but somehow recognizable.

Carlton stumbled to his feet, shaking his head as he squinted in the dimness.

Everything was strangely fuzzy, even inside his head.

He staggered over to the light switch and flipped it on, covering his mouth as he coughed.

Turning, he saw movement from the corner of his eye and clumsily reached for his gun.

He managed to snatch it from under his pillow before he even registered who he was pointing it at.

Daemon.

Daemon was standing by the window with a respirator on.

Daemon had Angeline.

Lassiter registered a handful of things at once: the tube, still hissing out gas, fed through the now-open window, the gun in Daemon's hand, pointed at him, and Angeline's limp body, absolutely still.

Daemon held her up, his arm across her ribs as she slumped forwards, head lolling.

"Hello, Pig," Daemon said, tilting his head as he eyed Lassiter.

"Let her go," Lassiter demanded weakly, coughing.

"You should be unconscious," Daemon noted.

Angeline coughed and stirred, her eyes blinking open as the fresh air blew past her.

"C-Carlton," she croaked, her brow furrowed in confusion. She raised her head and twisted to see who was holding her.

"No," she breathed, her fingers scrambling at Daemon's leather-clad arm, holding her so tight she could barely take a breath.

"Shh," Daemon hushed her, firming his grip, his gun never wavering.

"Let her go," Lassiter demanded again, his head clearing as the chloroform was swept from the room. His gun was steady, despite the fact that he had almost no shot.

"I just came to get her," Daemon said, "I would have left you to suffer, to always wonder what had happened to her. I would have left you alive. Unfortunately, now you're in my way."

"Leave her alone and I'll let you get out of here alive," Lassiter bargained, his voice tight.

Daemon chuckled.

"That's not how it works. Oh, well. I've killed you once. I guess second time's the charm," Daemon said.

He shot.

Angeline screamed, jerking her whole body to try and throw off his aim.

It was too little, too late.

A splash of red across his temple.

A look of shock in his wide, blue, blue eyes.

Carlton fell.


	6. Chapter 6: Numb

AN: Don't ask me why I suddenly went into first person mode. I don't know. They made me. *runs away crying*

Title from 'Numb' by Linkin Park

"I've become so numb, I can't feel you there. Become so tired, so much more aware. I'm becoming this, all I want to do is be more like me and be less like you."

**Chapter 6: Numb**

It was the shot that woke me.

I blinked up into the darkness, wondering how long ago I'd formed an outline of the Bat Signal in glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling.

My second thought was that it was never as exciting at my apartment as it was at my dad's house.

I didn't get a third thought because I was already on my feet and out the door.

Without a moment's pause, I flung open my dad's guest room, now officially Angeline and Lassie's room, and stopped dead.

Angeline was thrown over Daemon's shoulder, her legs firmly in his grip. He was climbing out the window with her, his gun still smoking. She wasn't moving.

Lassie. Lassie was on the floor, blood pooling under his head. He wasn't moving.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

I didn't know what to do. My friend was lying on the floor. Maybe dead. Angeline was being taken.

"Stop!" I shouted, stepping into the room. I had no gun. Lassie's was nowhere to be seen.

Daemon turned, the mask hiding his expression. Why was he wearing a mask?

"Too late, Psychic," Daemon said, "You'll never see her again."

Dad. Dad was here, finally. Dad would know what to do.

"Freeze!" he shouted, his growl familiar and yet chilling.

But Daemon didn't listen. And Dad didn't have a shot. Not with Angeline in the way.

They disappeared out the window.

"No!" Dad yelled, jumping over the bed and leaning out the window, trying to see where they were going.

I fell to my knees. Lassie. Lassie was still here. He couldn't be dead. He was indestructible. He was the Energizer Bunny. He was a Timex.

He wouldn't die on my father's worn wooden floor, crumpled like a GI Joe after a failed parachuting experiment.

He certainly wouldn't die wearing the hand-cuff boxers I gave him.

He swore he wouldn't be caught dead in those. He swore.

I was on my hands and knees now, crawling towards him because I simply couldn't stand.

I reached out a shaky hand and pressed my fingers against his throat.

A beat.

A-live. A-live. A-live.

The pulse sang to me.

I fell on top of him, my face pressed against his bare back.

He smelled like Lassie.

Gunpowder, coffee and leather, juniper and sandalwood, the salty sea-shore of sweat, and something else. Something sweet. Too sweet.

"Damn it, Kid!" my father exclaimed.

I was suddenly yanked up, into his arms and then up onto the bed.

"Dad?" I croaked, wondering when I started needing glasses. Everything was so fuzzy.

He left and I heard banging and crashing from the window. Then he was back, phone pressed to his ear.

"I don't care what you have to do; I need two ambulances up here, pronto, Karen! Yes, same suspect as before. Angeline's been taken. Lassiter's been shot. Shawn's… well, he's out of it. Gas."

Gas. That explained it. But Lassie, he was still on the floor. He was shot. He was alive, but he was shot.

"Lassie," I coughed, turning towards the edge of the bed.

Had to help him.

Had to…

-000-

It was the pain that woke me.

Pain from my head, pain from my lungs, and soul-searing, breath-stealing pain from my heart.

Carlton.

Carlton was dead.

A low, keening sound came from somewhere, my throat closing up as I curled into myself, lost in darkness.

He was dead.

Dead.

Dead.

Dead.

And now, there was nothing left but darkness and pain.

-000-

For a long, long time, I felt nothing but pain.

And then, at last, movement.

We were moving. But I didn't care.

I was lost. I was so lost. Lost in darkness.

Maybe I was dead.

But you don't move when you're dead.

You don't feel pain when you're dead.

If I was dead, he'd be here. He isn't.

There was something covering me. Something thick and stifling.

There was a gag in my mouth.

If I had been trying to breathe, it would have been suffocating.

I wasn't trying to breathe. I wasn't trying to live. I just was.

My lungs felt like they'd been scrubbed with sandpaper, every breath a struggle.

My arms were tied behind me. Thin plastic dug into my skin.

Sticky plastic-leather stuck to my cheek, glued by my tears.

A seat belt dug into my hip.

He. The monster. The killer. The demon.

Daemon.

He was humming.

I felt like a knife was being twisted in my heart, and he was humming.

The car slowed, popping over gravel. It stopped.

He got out.

He came back.

The car moved again, slow and steady, the gravel turning into silent bumping along irregular roads.

I smelled pine.

The woods. He'd brought me to the woods to kill me and bury my body.

I'd never be found.

But who would look?

Juliet, maybe, for a little while. Henry and Shawn and Gus.

But they wouldn't look long.

They had to bury…

Oh, God. The thought of him in a hole. In the ground. Alone forever.

I'd never see his blue eyes again.

It didn't matter what he'd said.

He was a good man. He wouldn't end up in the same place as me.

But maybe I wouldn't hurt, at least. Maybe it was just darkness.

I was used to darkness.

The car stopped. The engine died. He got out.

I felt the blanket move as he opened the door.

Light.

It was pitch black night out, but it was still brighter than under the blanket.

It had to be the next night, at least. Too long. I'd been curled up too long.

When he yanked me from the car I couldn't stand.

He caught me, tossing me over his shoulder like a bag of mulch.

He walked, his shoulder digging into my stomach.

I didn't struggle.

I didn't have the breath. Or the will.

It was time to die.

Light flashed on.

His boots stomped across wood.

Cedar and pine, oak and maple, wood smell everywhere.

A cabin.

Tiny, barely large enough to hold a bed and a table, but a cabin.

He threw me down on the bed, the springs squeaking noisily.

So, it would be this first. One more pain to add.

I wouldn't feel it.

I could feel no more pain.

He looked down at me, his lifeless grey eyes as merciless as a snake's.

"Still alive?' he asked tonelessly. I couldn't tell if he was surprised, pleased, or disappointed.

I didn't respond.

He took the gag out of my mouth.

I stared at the wall.

"You are a pain," he said conversationally, sitting down on one of the two basic wooden chairs.

I blinked.

"Do you have any idea how hard it was to get to you? How hard I had to work?"

I frowned.

"Always with those cops. The old man, the psychic, the chick, the beanpole. He must have been something in bed, huh? To have you stuck to him so tight."

"Shut up," I muttered, my voice barely audible. I was thirsty. Another pain.

He leaned forward, amusement flickering over his scarred features.

"I killed him."

I flinched, closing my eyes so I couldn't see the smug look on his face.

Carlton.

"I killed the kid and his old man, too," Daemon added.

My eyes flew open.

"No," I breathed, shaking my head.

Not Shawn.

Not Henry.

No.

He smiled.

"Psychic didn't see it coming. Too worried about the beanpole. His old man, though, he was tougher. But he couldn't shoot me when I had you, could he?"

"No," I cried, pain I didn't think I had room for digging its claws deep into me.

Dead. All of them.

And it was my fault.

I'd killed everyone who'd ever…

I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't…


	7. Chapter 7: The Tipping Point

AN: This is a very short, intermission chapter.

"In science, a tipping point is the point at which a system is displaced from a state of stable equilibrium into a different state." Wikipedia

**Chapter 7: The Tipping Point**

Juliet.

Poor Juliet.

I'd taken everything from her.

Her boyfriend.

Her partner.

She had no one left.

I cried for her while he hurt me.

I cried and wailed and mourned for the dead and for the living.

I cried for Gus.

His friend was gone.

His second dad.

I didn't cry for myself.

I cried until I had no more tears left.

I lay in the dark, my wrists still bound, my hands numb.

His arm was over me, hot against my side. His legs were tangled in mine beneath the coarse blanket.

Why wasn't I dead?

Too sad to sleep, too tired to stay awake. The dimness of night and the darkness of dreamless sleep were indistinguishable.

I woke to a knife at my throat.

This was it, then.

I looked up at him, fearless and hopeless and ready. Oh so ready.

"I was going to kill you here," he said.

My heart sank. The past tense. He'd changed his mind.

He looked at me, and for the first time I felt like he was looking at _me_. Not my body. Not my fear or helplessness, but inside me.

What did he see? What was left? I was nothing but an empty shell, stripped of life and hope and love and anything good.

"I'll let you live," he said, pausing as if waiting for a reply.

"I'd rather not," I answer at last, my voice deep and dark and emotionless.

The knife slid along my throat and I winced at the sting.

Warm blood dripped down like tears from the shallow cut.

"You say that, but you don't mean it," he said, the knife hovering now over my heart.

He pressed down, the tip sliding into my pectoral muscle with a slight crunch.

I cried out lightly, shocked by how it burned.

He pulled the knife away, examining the crimson-coated tip with interest.

"Work for me, and I'll let you live," he said casually.

My chest burned, my throat stung. He hovered over me, haloed in the bright sunlight, his shadow covering me. I glared at him.

"I won't go back to the basement. I'd rather die."

He smiled, his gold tooth glinting.

"You don't understand," he said, his hand on my knee as he spread my legs, "I'm not your brother. You'll be far more profitable in an open market."

The knife was pressed along the soft, sensitive skin inside my thigh.

"Doing what?" I ask, my voice breathless and tight.

The knife moved and I couldn't help the whimper of pain as the skin parted beneath it.

"What you're good at, Angel," he said, bending down and licking the blood from the cut.

What I'm good at. What I've had practice in. The only thing I'm good for.

He moved up to my throat and licked the blood from there, sucking lightly.

What did I have to live for?

Answer: nothing.

But did I want to die?

Did I want to die?

"What's your answer?" he asked, hovering above me, "And be sure, because I'm not going to ask again."

I thought about all I had lost. I thought about all I had seen. I thought about all I had yet to see.

"I…"

I would betray his memory. I would become the very thing he never wanted me to be.

"I want…"

But he was dead. He'd left me. He was gone. And I was alone.

"I want to live."

He smiled, victory gleaming in his cold grey eyes.

He kissed me and I could taste my blood on his lips.

"Congratulations, Angel," he said, putting away the knife, "You're mine now."


	8. Chapter 8: Nothing

Chapter title from 'Nothing' by The Script

"They say a few drinks will help me to forget her, but after one too many I know that I'll never. I wanted words but all I heard was nothing."

**Chapter 8: Nothing**

"Aw, crap."

My head was killing me.

What on Earth had Henry put in that dessert last night? 110 proof bourbon?

"Carlton?"

Juliet's voice surprised me and I cracked open my eyes.

"O'Hara?" I croaked, my voice creaky as I strained to focus. Why was everything so white and bright and… I sniffed… hospital-ly?

Was she… crying?

What happened?

"Oh, God," I moaned as I sat up, the room spinning around me.

"Whoa," O'Hara said, her hands on my shoulders as I nearly toppled from the bed.

"Where's Angeline? Why am I in the hospital?" I demanded, forcing the miner in my head back.

"Carlton," O'Hara said in that quiet, compassionate way she had when telling someone extremely bad news.

I turned the full force of my gaze on her, trying to read her expression even through the haze of pain.

"You were shot," she said softly, "What do you remember?"

"Shot?" I ask, my fingers exploring the patch of gauze on my temple.

A graze. Well, that explains the headache. But who shot me, and where was Angeline?

"I remember dessert, and then going to bed. And then I woke up here. Who shot me? Where's Angeline?"

"It was Daemon," O'Hara said, and my heart froze.

She didn't say anymore.

"Where. Is. Angeline?" I asked, jaw clenching.

She couldn't be… I would know. I would remember.

I stood, wobbling slightly before I forced my legs to hold me up.

"He took her," O'Hara said quietly, "Shawn and Henry tried to stop him."

My fists clenched. He took her. They tried. Tried?

"Where are they?" I snarled. Why was I getting information second hand? Why weren't they telling me what happened themselves?

"They're down the hall. Shawn still hasn't woken up," she said softly.

I looked down at her in surprise.

"The gas got him," she explained.

Gas. I remember something. A sweet smell.

"Chloroform," I mutter.

"Yes," O'Hara said with a nod, "It hit him pretty hard, but he should be fine."

My pants are lying on a nearby chair and I slip them on without a second thought. O'Hara wisely remains silent and leads me to Spencer's room.

Apparently I'm just in time. Shawn's sitting up and sipping on a cup of water as his father leans against the wall.

"What happened?" I ask, startling them both.

"Glad to see you up and around," Shawn rasps, his voice rough.

I wave off his concern.

"What happened to Angeline? Which way did he take her? Was she…?" I ask, not wanting to ask the words.

Was she still alive?

Henry and Shawn looked at each other.

"What? Tell me, damn it!" I demand, gripping the bedrail as my equilibrium threatens to send me to the floor.

"We don't know if she was still alive when he took her," Henry said.

"You don't know?" I ask, "How can you not know?"

"She wasn't moving," Shawn spoke up.

"It was the gas," I counter, "It knocked you out, apparently. Why not her?"

Henry nodded.

"You're right. She could have just been knocked out. But the gas doing it is what we're afraid of."

"What do you mean?" I growl, forcing myself not to shake the answers out of him. We were wasting time with all this conjecture.

"Chloroform has bad side effects," Guster spoke up, surprising me.

I turned towards him as he stood up from the chair in the corner.

"That's why it's not used much nowadays," he continued, "If your lungs are weak, it can… aggravate your condition."

I looked at him blankly, my abused mind not up to translating his euphemisms.

"It can make someone stop breathing," he said softly.

The pneumonia. Angeline's lungs were weak.

She could be dead already.

I barely noticed as Henry and Juliet helped me sit down, my legs refusing to cooperate any longer.

"No," I whisper, shaking my head and wincing as the miner dug a little deeper.

A flash of memory. Her saying my name. Her pushing Daemon before he fired.

"No," I say again, louder. I look up, frowning at their concerned and sympathetic faces.

"No, she was still alive. She pushed Daemon when he shot me," I touch the gauze on my temple, "She saved me."

Shawn sat up on the edge of his bed and nodded.

"Then what are we doing here?" he asked, a grin peeking out, "We've got a bad guy to find and a damsel in distress to save!"

-000-

It took two days, a thousand false hits, and about a hundred cups of coffee.

We tracked Daemon's car.

His stolen car.

It was found just off I-40 East… In Arkansas.

A tiny town called Ola, located outside the Ouachita National Forest. The preserve consisted of 1.8 million acres in central Arkansas and southeastern Oklahoma.

1.8 million acres.

The size was staggering.

It was so far out of our jurisdiction that it was utterly laughable.

I went anyway.

It would take 28 hours to drive there, so I flew.

O'Hara and Spencer came with me. Shawn- not Henry.

The Sheriff was a calm, unassuming woman about O'Hara's size, though a few decades older.

I don't remember her giving us any trouble, but that could be due either to my partner's convincing nature or Spencer's verbal diarrhea.

The car was almost clean.

It was a small comfort.

Spencer saw the blood, I saw the hair.

Angeline.

It was only a few spots, very small and up near where I'd found the hair.

He'd hit her in the head, then. Knocked her out. She was still alive.

December was the off-season for campers and hikers in the area. Thankfully, it had yet to snow, but the nights were long and dark and cold.

The days were not much better.

That made finding out if anyone had seen Daemon and Angeline both easier and harder.

There were few witnesses, mostly rangers, but they did remember every single visitor.

He'd rented a cabin. Cash. One night.

And he was alone.

I almost snapped when Ranger Bob, or whatever his name was, said that.

Alone my Great-Aunt Fanny.

But at least they kept records.

Cabin Two was separate from the rest, off the beaten trail. The tire tracks on the dirt path matched those of the stolen vehicle.

Ranger Bob drove us up there in his jeep.

There was blood on the bed.

A lot of blood.

Daemon had made no effort to conceal his actions, just as he'd made no effort to conceal the vehicle.

"You'll never see her again," Spencer said, and I turned on him with a snarl.

"What?"

He looked at me, his eyes wide and sorrow-filled.

"That's the last thing Daemon said before he took her," Spencer whispered, covering his mouth with his hand.

O'Hara touched his shoulder, rubbing gentle circles.

"If he…" she started.

"1.8 million acres," I said dully.

"What?" she asked.

I turned my back, looking at the bloody sheets, the knife-print where a blade had been hastily cleaned off.

"That's how big this park is."

Dead.

Buried.

Gone.

She was gone.

And I'd never even know how.


	9. Chapter 9: Ora

AN: WARNING: This is a very disturbing chapter. This chapter is rated M. There are semi-explicit sexual references and disturbing images. You can skip this chapter if you don't want to read that. Just know that Angeline is very, very screwed up.

Chapter title from "Ora" by Ludovico Einaudi from the album Una Mattina.

Ora means 'Now' in Italian. Una Mattina means 'A Morning'. Ironic?

Ora means 'Opening/Mouth/Boundary' in Latin, too.

Chapter 9: Ora

He cut my ties.

My hands free, I could have gone for the knife. I could have tried to escape.

But where would I go?

I couldn't return to Santa Barbara.

Juliet. Gus.

It was bad enough imagining their sorrow, I couldn't see it too.

I couldn't live it.

It was surprisingly easy to fall back into bad habits.

There was no one outside myself. No one's name to remember, face to dwell on. No one to rely on.

Only me.

When Daemon told me to prove that I was his now- that I could be trusted not to run, to cause trouble- I did it.

No questions asked.

He patted my head like a treasured pet as I licked and sucked and made him moan.

He had me stand before I finished. Circling me as I stood naked and cold and still bleeding.

He touched me, his hand slipping down and fingers moving rhythmically as he spoke of hours and hours of training and pleasure and pain until the words ran garbled and never-ending through my mind.

He left me empty and trembling and when he spoke I listened and obeyed without question because he was the master and I was the pet and I did as I was told and I would get pleasure, pain, reward, more, something.

And when he entered me rough and huge and hard and hot and it was so good and bad and hurt and wonderful and I deserved it and it was my reward, punishment.

And I had to wait, wait, wait until he said so until he told me it was time and then then then bright light and reward and emptiness and nothingness and peace, so peace.

And then I came back and he was still touching, still moving, still filling and it was fine, not-fine, terrible horrible, betrayal and disgust and bad and evil and everything he was not and how could I do this to him but how could he have left me and who cares because this is what life is and it won't change so don't…

Feel.

Empty.

Full and empty. Oh, so full it almost hurts but it doesn't because the empty hurts worse and how could I not have realized before how empty I was when before I had nothing and now I have more than nothing, less than nothing because I had and now I have not and it shouldn't hurt worse but it does so don't…

Remember.

Blank.

And he smiles at me and I smile back because I made my master happy and that's what's important.

And he gives me my clothes, the same nightgown I bought for… But now it's torn and stained and if it hadn't been black already it would have been crimson with blood and sticky with sex and pain and…

"It will have to be replaced," he says and I nod.

I agree. The emptiness, blackness, darkness, blankness will have to be replaced and has been replaced and will be replaced and is being replaced and I will have, have forgotten completely and there is nothing outside, nothing later, nothing when, just the now and doing what my master says and being good, bad, good.

He touches me again through the thin black material; smooth oh so smooth and silky like skin down low like… But not, and he's warm across my breast as he twists and pinches and I moan and lean towards him because this is what he wants and it's what I need, what I want, what I deserve.

And he has me stand and wait outside the door as he does something inside and it doesn't matter what and it doesn't matter that it's cold, very cold and I'm naked beneath the nightgown and every part of me stings and burns like cold is heat and I'm being baked, frozen, and the wind sends my skirt up into the air and I should be embarrassed ashamed afraid someone will see but I'm not because my master told me not to move so I wait until the wind dies, everything dies, and I don't cross my arms, I don't move even though I can see my breath and the sunlight is like knives cutting away at what the wind missed and my dress is sticking to the blood that's drying on my legs, my neck, my side and it's the only warmth I feel.

He comes out and smiles as he sees me still standing there and he touches me again and his fingers are like fire and I lean into him and moan because it feels good to feel again and he's the only warmth, life, I have and he's the reason I'm here and he's my master and he'll fix it, fix it all and make me warm again and his smile grows as I shift my legs wider apart and press forward, ignoring the fact that we're outside and anyone could see and it's cold and his fingers are deep inside me now and they're warm and I feel.

I whimper as he pulls out but I stay where I'm told because he didn't say I could move and maybe I'm being punished for moving, shouldn't have moved, shouldn't have moved and please don't leave me please don't leave me here in the cold.

He raises his fingers and I take them into my mouth and they're warm and they taste of me and he moans as I suck and lick them clean and they taste of blood, and dirt and pain too, but that's okay because he's my master and if I make him clean he won't punish me maybe he won't leave me like…

And then I'm done and he takes my hand and I follow him to the car and sit on the floor with the blanket over me and it's almost warm.

He tells me to sleep and I do.

He wakes me up and I don't ask why and I don't move until he tells me to and I don't move at all because he's carrying me and I have to stay small and quiet and wrapped up in the blanket and for a moment I fear because what if he puts me in the trunk and I'm left alone in the darkness and he leaves me there and I am being punished and what did I do I didn't mean to I'll do anything, anything, just don't leave me alone in the dark again not again.

But he doesn't and he puts me in another car, one that doesn't small like pain and blood and sorrow not yet and I stay under the blanket and on the floor but it is warm and he's here and its okay because we're moving again and when we get there he'll let me know and again he tells me to sleep.

And I do.

We stop somewhere loud and busy and I'm scared because there is so much so many and I'll get lost and if he leaves I'll never find him and I'll be alone but he goes anyway and tells me to stay and don't move, so I don't.

It's cold and I can hear snow fall and I don't know how I know what it sounds like but I'd like to see it I've never seen it and the urge to peek out, just for a second, is overwhelming and I almost do but then I remember he told me not to move so I don't I just listen.

And he's back and I see the snow on his boots and it is beautiful against the blackness like heaven or light or angels or hope but it melts and we're moving again.

We stop again and I didn't sleep that time so I know we must be there wherever there is but its good because everything hurts and I want to get up get out but I can't ask because he told me to be quiet.

He gets out and he carries me again, hidden in the blanket and we go inside because it's quiet but not warm, still cold but quiet.

He puts me down on the floor and takes my blanket and tells me to take off my clothes and stand there until he gets back and then he leaves.

So I stand and I take off my nightgown and I let it fall to the floor beside me. It is a hotel and it looks sort of like the safe house, but not, and it's cold because the window is icy and I see it through the crack in the dark red curtains and there are rough wool blankets on the bed and the bed is big and looks warm but I stand there because my master told me to.

The tile is cold beneath my feet and only a few inches in front of me the carpet starts and it is thin and looks dirty but it must be warmer than the cold, brown tile, but I don't check because I can't move. The door and window are right in front of me and if anyone comes in or comes by and looks in they'll see me but I can't cover up because I can't move.

The door opens but I don't move and it is him and he's back and he comes in and leaves the door open and puts down his bags before he slowly goes back and shuts the door and the whole time the wind and snow is blowing in and it lands on my feet, my hair, my chest and I shiver and tremble because it's so cold and how could something so pure and white and beautiful be so cold and I watch as it melts against my skin like tears.

He takes off his clothes and I watch. He walks past me into the bathroom and I almost lean into his warmth before I remember and stay still.

The shower turns on and he comes back out and takes my arm and pulls me into the bathroom and I go and he pushes me into the shower and I can't help the yelp that escapes me because the water is like ice and there is no warmth but I don't move and then he picks up the wash rag and it's cold and wet and he starts to wash me off, the rough cold like sandpaper against my skin and this is nothing like the showers I took with…

And he scrubs along the cuts opening them again and the water is pink with my blood but not too much because it is so cold that my skin has no blood left to give and I feel myself slowing and it's just like that time hiding up on the roof except now there's no…

And then he drops the rag and he touches me and presses inside me and his fingers are so cold that it's like ice is inside me and I cry out because it hurts and it's cold and what did I do? I did what I was told why am I being punished?

And he pushes me to the back of the shower where the water doesn't reach and I'm thankful, so thankful to be out of the ice. And he takes out his fingers and I feel not as cold and I almost cry in relief but I don't because he did not tell me I could speak.

He turns the faucet and I see steam start to rise and I feel faintly the water warm the room and it's like the sun coming out after a long, long night and I think that he'll let me be warm now but he gets in and he's under the spray and it mists over me, too fine to give real warmth, just making me wetter and cold, so cold into my bones.

He washes himself, the dirt and blood running off him and he smiles as I shiver, my hair dripping ice down my back and I watch the steam rise.

He turns the water off and turns around.

He's hard and ready and I know now that he's not done and then he's inside me and it's like fire and I can't help but scream and he laughs as he bangs me against the wall, the heat of him like embers against my inner thighs as I wrap my legs around his hips.

He grunts as he finishes and the warmth floods through me and it's like life and I feel it move inside me and I want more, so much more but he sets me down and I don't move until he comes back and he's dry and I'm standing there shivering and dripping and waiting as he finally takes the damp towel he used and scrapes it along my skin, along my breasts until they're red and raw and painful and down lower until I'm dry, so dry that it hurts and burns and scrapes. And then he dries my hair and he wraps the towel around it and twists until my head is bent backwards and my neck is arched and tight and exposed and tears fall from my eyes and he sucks on my neck as I tremble and fight to stay standing.

He releases me and the towel falls to the floor of the shower. He tugs on my nipples and smiles as I wince and then he moves lower and twists and I cry out because I'm sore, so sore, and he knows.

He takes me into the bedroom and sits on the edge of the bed and I kneel between his legs and suck and lick and pull until he's hard and hot and ready again, even in the cold room where I shiver and shake.

He tells me to crawl onto the bed and I do and I'm on my hands and knees and he's over me and I think that I'll finally be warm, finally be filled again with that warm, warm heat, life, and then he enters me but it's wrong and I scream out in pain not shock but shock too and he hushes me and tells me it's okay and some men like it like this and I'd better get used to it and he's doing me a favor because he's going slow, so slow and they won't.

And he is slow, so slow as he pushes farther inside me hot and hard and big and too big and I think I'm going to rip in half but he shushes me and caresses my breasts as I cry, my arms shaking.

Then he's finally all the way in and it hurts so bad but he's moaning and saying how tight I am and how much money I'm going to make him and he's saying my name as he starts to move in and out.

I shudder as his fingers enter me too and I've never been this full and he pumps in time with himself and rubs me just there, where it's sore and it hurts but it feels good too and maybe this isn't so bad maybe I could get used to it and maybe it isn't punishment after all.

I feel he's almost through and he speeds up and I'm almost there too and he whispers that I can go this time so I do when he does and I'm warm, so warm and he's filling me with life and warmth and it's so deep inside that it fills my chest and almost feels like…

And it's white hot heat as I come and come and come and so does he and he's screaming my name this time and I know I've pleased him.

My arms give out and I fall to my stomach, my legs splitting open wide because he's still inside me and on top of me and he's so warm that it doesn't matter that I can't breathe and even as the darkness starts to creep in at the edges it still feels good, feels better, feels real.

He rolls off of me, out of me and I can breathe and it all comes back and I hurt everywhere.

He gets under the blankets and curls up but I'm still lying there and its cold and I feel the blood and sticky warmth trickling from me but I can't move because it hurts.

"Come here," he says, lifting the blanket.

I move and get under the covers next to him even though it hurts and it's a good hurt because he's happy and he's here and he hasn't left.


	10. Chapter 10: Ain't No Sunshine

AN: Chapter title from 'Ain't No Sunshine' by Bill Withers

"Ain't no sunshine when she's gone. It's not warm when she's away. Wonder this time where she's gone, wonder if she's gone to stay. Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, and this house just ain't no home anytime she goes away."

**Chapter 10: Ain't No Sunshine**

Gone.

Just gone.

It's like an empty hole inside me, a missing piece so huge and gaping and raw that I know it will never heal and I'm as good as dead.

I stare at the crime scene photos and look for clues, any clue, that she might still be out there. Might still be alive.

But I know.

I know because of the emptiness.

And I can see it in my mind, her buried out there, forever alone and forgotten and rotting in a shallow grave.

If they ever find her, some hiker, climber, camper, ranger, they won't know who she is.

Maybe someone will remember I came looking; maybe someday I'll get a call that I can finally bury her with a headstone and a grave, and someone might remember that she was important.

Because she was.

There's no hint to how he killed her, what her last words were, her last feeling.

The blood presses images into my mind, so many crime scenes I've seen that I can read blood like words.

She was bound, her hands behind her back. Her tiny fists made impressions on the sheets as she was pressed against them again and again and again, as he…

Blood mixed with fluids down lower and I remember her screaming.

Blood in her hair, like paintbrushes across the canvas sheet. Blood from her side where he must have cut her, but not cut away because there would be skin and more blood.

Blood on the floor, circling the dust. They are knee-prints and I know he forced his way down her throat then.

He wiped off the knife there, and I can see how long and sharp and flat it is. The sheet is sliced where it caught the edge and I know that it cut through her skin like butter.

But not enough blood to kill.

How did he kill her?

I have to know; it haunts me.

There are a thousand ways to kill someone without shedding blood.

Strangulation, suffocation, those images are the strongest as I remember her hanging there, spinning as he smiled and watched.

His fingers around her slim neck, clenching and unclenching enough to prolong her death until she begged him to die, to release her.

Her last words a plea to die.

I know he killed her because they found the plastic zip-tie, cut and bloody, on the floor under the bed.

I stare at the picture of the front of the cabin, the close-up of the wood there, darkened by blood.

And then nothing.

The wind and rain and sleet had driven away anything, any clue, beyond the overhang.

And it was all my fault.

I should have protected her better. I should have known that he'd come back.

But why had he come back? The trial was over; the brother imprisoned for life.

What benefit would killing her have now?

I should have known.

It was a pride thing; an honor thing.

He could no more leave a job undone than I could.

But I did. I should have known she needed more protection then, how would he put it, 'banging' a cop.

She should have stayed in a safe house. Should have changed her name and identity and moved far, far away where he would never find her.

But she didn't because I'm selfish and I wanted her for myself.

And now I've killed her.

I ignored everything; every bit of logic and law I knew.

And she paid for it.

I sit in Henry's house on our bed- the last place I saw her. I was still here, not because I wanted to be here, but because I simply couldn't move.

The room still smelled of her. Of strawberries and musty earth and the sea.

They were holding a wake downstairs.

They didn't call it that, of course, because no one would admit she was dead.

Missing, they called it.

O'Hara made the flyers; sent them out.

She showed me one and gave me the picture she used. She only used part of the picture; a profile of her face as she looked up, almost smiling.

I look over at the original: neatly, simply framed and sitting next to me.

She was looking up at me, my arm around her shoulders as I glanced down at her, a small smile of my own faintly visible.

She was looking up at me, love and happiness and trust so, so apparent.

O'Hara had taken the photo. The only photo I have of her. The only thing I have left to prove that she was real and not just someone I dreamed one long, cold, lonely winter night.

But no, this hurt too much to be a dream.

Angeline.

I hadn't said her name aloud since we returned; the flight long and silent.

I had gone back to work the next day, despite O'Hara's arguments and the Chief's forbidding frown.

Without her, I had nothing else to rely on.

Work was safe, work was constant, and work couldn't be stolen away.

I couldn't kill work.

I worked until they made me go home, and then I sat in the room and looked at the photos and drank.

It had been over a week.

Over a week since we left the cabin. Almost two since she'd been taken.

It was only a week until Christmas.

The very thought of a holiday without her, Christmas without her, had me reaching for the bottle.

But it was empty.

Like the house I bought her.

I couldn't live there, not now. But I couldn't decide if I should sell it or not. Part of me wanted to; wanted to cut any ties with the past. Part of me wanted to leave Santa Barbara and never return.

There was so much pain here.

And then there was part of me that was afraid that if I left, if I sold it, it would be like she never existed at all.

And then there was that tiny, tiny part of me that still had hope. That still believed she lived and would return one day and we could be happy and finally, finally at peace.

Fool.

How many happy endings had I seen? How many triumphant returns? How many unharmed or rescued or found?

I knew the statistics.

I knew Daemon.

But I still waited.


	11. Chapter 11: Sweet Dreams

AN: Chapter title from 'Sweet Dreams' by the Eurhythmics.

"Sweet dreams are made of these. Who am I to disagree? I travel the world and the seven seas: everyone's looking for something. Some of them want to use you. Some of them want to get used by you. Some of them want to abuse you. Some of them want to be abused."

**Chapter 11: Sweet Dreams**

He'd gone to get food.

He'd be back. He said so.

He said he had something to give me for being so good yesterday.

He told me to wash quickly and braid my hair to get it out of the way before he came back.

I took a hot shower, even though I didn't ask. The water burned some places but it was good, too. Good to feel clean. I wanted to stay under the hot water for a long time, until my skin turned pink and shriveled up and I was warm all the way inside like I was when…

But I couldn't because he was coming back soon. He said so.

I opened my mouth and drank and drank the warm, metallic water until I wasn't thirsty anymore.

I got out and dried off and my hair was only a little damp so I braided it right away, surprised at how long it had gotten. The braid hung down my back like a heavy rope, brushing my hips as I moved. I found a little rubber band on the floor and used it to tie it off tight so it wouldn't come undone no matter what.

I sat on the edge of the bed and waited, the rough wool blanket warm around my shoulders and I wrapped it around my knees too as I sat there.

I heard a key in the door and he was back and he came back just like he said he would.

He had two bags in his hands and one smelled of food, hot and buttery and my stomach growled loudly.

He chuckled but frowned as he looked over at me.

My eyes went wide. What had I done wrong?

"Blanket off," he ordered.

I quickly shrugged it off and stood, naked, at his gesture.

He sat the bags down on the table and came towards me.

"Turn," he said.

I turned slowly, letting him look me over. When I faced him again, I searched his face for approval.

He nodded. Moving past me, he dug into one of his bags from yesterday and pulled out something black.

He turned and approached me, lifting the object in his hands. It was thick and had some sort of silver metal part that laid flat and another that stuck out like a half-moon.

"Let's try on your present, shall we?" he asked.

He put it around my neck and went behind me and I heard a lock click and then it was on.

"Go look," he said, gesturing to the mirror on the bathroom door.

I went and looked in the mirror.

It was a collar, thick and black and leather. I touched it, tracing the elaborate impressed knot design that made it pretty instead of plain. It fit around my throat loosely. I could breathe fine and it settled down on my shoulders with a soft weightiness. The edges were rounded and wouldn't cut my skin.

"Do you like it?" he asked, grinning as he came up behind me.

I nodded.

"No one can take it off except me," he said, holding up a tiny key-chip, "So you better get used to it."

I nodded again and my stomach growled.

He took a matching leather leash from his pocket and clipped it to the metal circle on my collar.

Tugging on my leash, he went back to the little table and sat in the plain wooden chair and I moved to sit across from him in the other chair.

"Here," he said, yanking the leash and pointing to the floor next to him.

I stopped and went to his side and sat on the floor, looking up at him. He dropped the leash and stepped on it so I couldn't stand.

He opened the white box and I could smell pancakes and see the steam still rising off of them.

He started eating.

I waited, shivering by his feet, and watched him eat.

After a few minutes he tore off a bite and looked down at me.

"Open," he said.

I opened my mouth and he fed me a tiny piece. I chewed it slowly, savoring the bite as long as I could.

He finished eating and handed me the box with what was left over.

There wasn't much.

I picked at the bits of pancake and sausage that were left and licked the buttery syrup from the bottom.

He watched me.

I was still hungry. I gave him back the box, which he tossed into the trash, and looked up at him, waiting for more.

He picked up my leash and led me over to the bed. He stepped on the leash again, forcing me to my knees in front of him as he sat down.

"Have to make sure the collar doesn't block anything," he said with a smirk.

It didn't.

I wasn't hungry anymore.

"Tonight," he said, unclipping the leash and zipping up his pants, "you make me some money."

I nodded and wiped off my mouth, standing.

He dug into another bag and pulled out some clothes and a big shoe box.

"Put them on," he said, tossing the clothes to me.

More black leather. I pulled on the short skirt first. It zipped closed and clung to me like a second skin. It was barely long enough to cover everything as I moved. Next was a see-through black lace bra that fastened in the front. It pushed my breasts up and together and made them look bigger than they were. The shirt was next; just a leather vest, really, with thin silver accents embroidered on it. The neckline was low and barely covered the edges of the bra. It had only three snaps to keep it closed and it, too, clung to me.

There was a gap between the top of the low-rise skirt and the bottom of the vest. My back and stomach were bare from the base of my ribs to far below my navel.

I opened the shoe box and sat on the edge of the bed to pull on the tall, high-heeled black leather boots. They reached all the way up past my knees, and I tottered when I stood.

"Walk," he ordered, pointing to the far wall.

I walked, finding my balance as I went. After several passes across the room, I could walk normally.

I hit the wall and turned to walk back, gasping lightly in surprise when I found him standing close behind me.

He shoved me up against the wall, yanking my legs up around his hips and grinding into me. I locked my heels around him and held on to his shoulders as he popped open the vest in one swift movement and then unhooked the bra, his hand immediately on my breast. His jeans rubbed roughly against me and I moaned.

He let go and pulled away and I stood on jellied legs, breathing heavily.

"Oh, yes, that will do well," he said with a smirk, "Put yourself back together, you've got more to do."

I reassembled my outfit and tugged down the skirt where it had ridden up.

"Put these on," he said, tossing me a small bag of makeup and pointing to the mirror.

I stood in front of the mirror, putting on the makeup. I was thankful that I'd learned how. If Juliet hadn't…

I paled, the red lipstick quivering in my hand.

The ring on my finger seemed to glow in the reflected light.

Daemon had turned the TV on and wasn't watching me.

I slipped off the ring.

I held it in my hand for a long time.

He'd missed it. I didn't know how, but Daemon hadn't noticed it yet. When he did, he'd make me get rid of it.

I couldn't.

I wouldn't.

I still wore the thin silver necklace, almost invisible beneath the collar.

I took it off and put the ring on it. I wrapped it twice around my neck and it was tight, but not too tight. I lifted the collar and tucked the ring into the hollow of my throat. I let the collar fall back down.

There. It was undetectable. No one knew it was there but me.

It was safe.

I finished putting on the makeup. When I was done, I looked at myself in the mirror.

He stood behind me.

"You're perfect, Angel," he said, his hand resting on the back of my thigh.

Blood-red lips, dusky-painted dark eyes, pale white skin and a thick black collar.

I was Angel.

-000-

He led me into the noisy, pounding, dark building; neon lights flashing around us as the music pulsed and bodies moved and writhed.

"You see the guys with chains on?" he whispered in my ear as we stood in a dark corner.

I nodded, noticing the silver glints as they gyrated on the dance floor.

"Those are dog tags. They're sailors, just paid. Pick one and bring him out back."

I nodded again.

He slipped off the black trench coat I was wearing.

I stepped forward into the flashing lights.


	12. Chapter 12: Give Me Everything Tonight

AN: WARNING: Graphic images.

Small-spoiler alert: If ya'll are tired of Angeline waiting around to get rescued, being weak, and/or letting herself be used, please don't give up hope. New Year's Eve(n) will have Angeline kicking some tail (I think). ;)

This was supposed to be Carlton's chapter, but Angeline took it over again. I didn't want to write any of this. She's so… ARG! She's just a demanding character that wants her own way. Next chapter looks to be from her too because I had to split this one up. I promise the last chapter of this story WILL be Carlton's. *glowers threateningly*

Chapter title from 'Give Me Everything Tonight' by Pitbull

"Tonight I will love, love you tonight. Give me everything tonight. For all we know, we might not get tomorrow. Let's do it tonight. Grab somebody sexy, tell 'em hey, give me everything tonight!"

**Chapter 12: Give Me Everything Tonight **

I was barely two steps into the light when a man approached me.

"Hey, Baby, wanna dance?" he asked.

I looked him over. He was medium height, medium build. His shirt was un-tucked and his tie loosened around his neck. He wasn't wearing tags.

I shook my head.

"I'm looking for a sailor," I explained, raising my voice slightly to be heard over the music.

I turned back towards the dance floor and took a step forward when he grabbed my arm. He yanked me back and I stumbled, nearly falling into him before another man grabbed my shoulders and steadied me.

"She said she was looking for a sailor," my rescuer said lowly, towering over the businessman in his dark v-neck sweater and jeans.

The dog tags chain glowed against his dark skin.

The businessman backed off with a frown and my rescuer looked down at me and smiled.

"Thank you," I said quietly, smiling at him as his hands still rested on my shoulders.

"No problem," he rumbled, "Would you like to dance- with a sailor, of course?"

I nodded and he led me out onto the dance floor.

His name was Dean, and he laughed when I told him I'd never danced at a club before.

He had a nice laugh.

His hands were large, even larger than…

But he was gentle and he taught me how to move, how to match my movements to his, how to feel the beat and know when changes were coming.

His hands started out on my sides, warm against my chilled flesh.

As we danced they moved down to my hips, guiding me as the beat grew wilder, the number of dancers greater.

I was hot now and so was he, drips of sweat sliding down as so many pressed so close and I could feel every part of him through the soft leather.

He was pressed against my back now, one hand below my navel pressing me close, closer, closest, the other on my thigh, his fingers sliding beneath my skirt and I felt his gasp when he touched me.

I turned and looked up at him, his hands cradling my rear as we still moved to the beat.

I stretched up to whisper in his ear.

"Let's go out back."

I felt him shudder and he kissed me.

He tasted of mint and alcohol.

I took his hand and led him to the back door.

The wind was icy against our sweat-dampened skin, but we didn't pause.

It was dark behind the club, just a small alley. The bare light bulb above the door illuminated a little circle and I led him beyond the dumpster.

We were barely out of sight of the street and the doorway, but it didn't matter.

He pressed me against the cold brick wall, the thud of music vibrating us as he kissed me, lifting me up until I wrapped my legs around his waist.

He fumbled with the snaps on my vest, groaning his approval when they popped open without fuss. The bra gave him even less trouble and I let my head fall back against the wall with a moan as his mouth explored my chest.

He fumbled with his zipper for a moment and then he was there and he looked me right in the eyes as he slid inside.

My eyes closed involuntarily as he moved so it wasn't until he fell that I realized something was wrong.

I almost went down with him. Instead sliding down the wall and catching myself in an awkward crouch.

I gaped over at him, lying on his back with his eyes closed, a small stream of blood trickling from his shaved head.

Daemon stood above him.

"Get up," he sneered, pocketing the gun he'd used to knock out Dean.

I stood shakily, reassembled my top and shuffled over to Daemon's side.

"Search him," he ordered and I did, grunting as I turned him over to get to his wallet in his back pocket. I stood and opened it and it was filled with cash.

"Take the cash, put the rest back," he ordered.

I did as I was told, though I wondered why we didn't take the credit cards.

Daemon handed me my trench coat, which I put on quickly. It was cold.

"Come on. We've got a lot of night left."

-000-

Mike. Kennan. Ivan. One who never told me his name.

I was bait.

Mike was nice too. He liked to dance slow and close.

Kennan had a girlfriend, but she was mad at him. It wasn't fair. He'd been on the ship for a long time.

Ivan wasn't as dumb as they thought he was. Just because he was big didn't make him dumb. Besides, being big had its advantages.

Daemon let me rest a bit after him, but we had to have one more before last call.

I didn't like him, but I didn't have to. No one else would come near me when he was there.

I didn't even ask him, he just took me out back.

He pushed me over the boxes and held me down, grinding my chest into the splintery wood.

When Daemon hit him he slumped over my back, crushing me.

Daemon pulled him off.

I gave his money to Daemon, but I didn't put his wallet back. I threw it in the puddle of vomit in the corner. I also accidently kicked him in the privates.

Daemon thought it was funny.

-000-

We went back to hotel and Daemon gave me some stuff to clean up with.

When I was clean and I'd made sure my clothes were clean and ready for tomorrow night, he put the leash back on me.

He tied me up under the table, naked, and left.

He came back pretty fast and threw me a hamburger.

He sat at the table and ate while I quickly scarfed down my burger, savoring the warm fullness.

I was glad I had eaten so quickly so I had a little time to digest before he slid down in his chair and unzipped his pants.

When we finished he untied me and led me over to the bed. He tied me tight against the headboard so I couldn't move, even if I'd wanted to, and then stripped and lay down next to me.

He slid beneath the blankets but left me bare; gazing over at me as he idly fingered my breast.

"Five a night is good for now," he said, "I'll work on getting you some day-time regulars as well. Paying ones instead of ambushes. If I get the right guys, they'll pay even more then these working stiffs."

"Why don't you want the credit cards?" I ask, emboldened by his positive tone.

He snorted.

"Yeah, like I need more cop trouble. Why do you think I wait till they're into you before I make a move? Besides liking to watch."

I shake my head, frowning. Why did he wait? Why did he let all those men…?

But he was my master. He knew best.

He slid his hand down to my stomach and pulled at my navel, smiling as I winced and shifted my legs.

"No man's gonna admit having cash stolen; especially if he got some first. It's not like you can trace cash. And they're really distracted when they're inside you. I barely have to sneak at all. Not that I blame them, Angel."

He scraped against my navel again, harder, and I whimpered as the pain shot down.

"But when did I tell you to talk?" he asked, his voice growing hard.

I paled. I'd forgotten, talking, flirting with those men all night. He hadn't given me permission.

He flipped me over and yanked me to my knees, my head still leashed down.

He entered my anus roughly and I cried out, muffled as I clutched the sheet. He was going slow again, so slow, too slow. He wasn't even half-hard and I knew that he could keep this up for hours, his finger still jabbing at my navel and sending electric shocks of pain through me. I sobbed as he pulled out and pushed back in a tiny bit, every movement like being cut open by a dull, rusty knife.

"Tell me," he growled, "If you want to talk, tell me what you deserve for disobeying me?"

I stayed silent, choking back the whimpers that threatened to escape.

He stopped moving altogether, his finger pressing against my navel so hard that I thought I might pass out from the tearing, shocking combination of pain.

"P-please," I beg.

The finger relaxes just a bit and then presses again, harder.

"What?" he growls.

"P-please, Master," I gasp out, shifting my legs as far apart as he'll let me, trying to relieve some of the pain.

His finger pulls away and my legs nearly collapse from sudden relief. I stretch my neck to look back at him, to try and see his expression.

His grey eyes are nearly black, the pupils large and dark and I've never seen him like that.

"What did you say?" he rasps.

I swallow and try to get my dry mouth to form the words he wants to hear.

"Please, Master, punish me," I whisper.

He shudders and he's suddenly hard and pushing into me so fast that it's like being on fire.

-000-

He punishes me again when he wakes up.

I pretend it hurts as much as it used to, but it doesn't.

But I'm afraid of the punishment he'll choose if he found that out.

He strips everything off the bed except the sheet and ties my hands and feet to the bed posts with soft, black leather straps.

I shiver as he leaves me there, staring up at the ceiling.

Is this more punishment?

Or is it something else? Is he tired of me? Did I not make him enough money?

I swallow and feel the ring move against my throat.

It's cold. Unlike the warm, soft leather it's cold and hard.

I try to see him.

It's his eyes I picture first. Those blue, blue eyes that were so expressive, even when he wasn't.

Then it's his nose. Strong and leading down to those lips that were so soft and warm on mine. His strong jaw with just a hint of stubble after a long day's work. His tie still tied but the top button of his collar undone allowing for a glimpse of salt-and-pepper chest hair that matched his sideburns, trailing up to his temples to darken and thicken into that thick, slightly wavy hair I loved to run my fingers through.

His hands. The long fingers calloused but still somehow soft when he touched me.

I close my eyes and I can hear his voice.

Deep and gentle and sad. It's like a memory, but not one I can grasp.

He talks of a beach wedding, a mountain honeymoon. Children. And he describes them in such detail that I can see them. The children that will never be. He talks of growing old together, of death without fear and I wonder what that would have been like.

I wonder if he was afraid when he died and I am suddenly ashamed that I was.

I was too afraid to die and yet I die a little more each day.

I forget what it was like to ever live.

I know I will forget him too.

I swallow again, fighting back the moisture in my eyes.

His ring bounces against my throat and I know I cannot, will not forget him.

Because he was important.

Because he was real.

And he's the only thing that still is.


	13. Chapter 13: Suddenly I See

AN: Chapter title from 'Suddenly I See' by KT Tunstall

"Suddenly I see (Suddenly I see) This is what I wanna be. Suddenly I see (Suddenly I see) Why the hell it means so much to me."

**Chapter 13: Suddenly I See**

Daemon returned.

He had someone with him. A man: decent looking, tall and thin with dark hair and dark eyes, his hair a messy look that some would kill for.

They came in and his eyes widened when he saw me.

"What do you think?" Daemon asked after a few seconds of silence.

The man flushed slightly and cleared his throat.

"She's certainly good-looking enough," he croaked and then he frowned, "But why is she tied up? She wild?"

Daemon scoffed.

"Angel, did you struggle?" he asked.

I shook my head.

The man looked unimpressed.

Daemon smiled and lightly tugged one of the leather straps that bound my feet. The knot immediately loosened and fell from the post. I didn't move.

The man's eyes widened in surprise.

"Just a visual on how obedient she is, John," Daemon said, "So, are you interested?"

Interested? He wasn't… Was he selling me? Did I make him that mad when I spoke? Was he going to give me to someone else? Leave me here?

The man named John nodded and my stomach sank.

No. He couldn't. I… He was all I had. He was my master!

Daemon sat at the table and John sat across from him.

I listened as they discussed pricing, feeling my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest.

Then my master said something that gave me hope.

"Three nights. I'll need her back before dark on the 24th."

Back. He wasn't selling me forever, just for three days.

They shook on it and my master removed the straps quickly and untied my leash from the headboard.

He led me over to John and unclipped my leash.

"Stay," he ordered and I didn't move, standing naked as John circled around me, his fingers skimming over my rear.

"Put this on," my master said when John finished, handing me something red and silky.

I slipped on the nightgown, smooth and cool against my skin. The ruby-red color and slight sheen was fascinating and I couldn't help running the hem through my fingers. It was short, as short as my leather skirt, and the top barely covered my breasts. It hugged my body in a silky second skin, and I could barely feel that it was on.

My master gave me a pair of matching high-heeled sandals, the crisscrossing straps twisting up my ankles like a climbing vine.

"Nice," John murmured and Daemon smiled and nodded.

"Isn't she? She'll treat you and your boys well. Just remember, if there's any damage, you'll have to pay for it."

John nodded and my master handed me my trench coat and told me to put it on.

I followed John to his car and got in.

"See you in three days, Angel," Daemon said, leaning into the window and tugging on my collar, "Be good," he ordered.

I nodded, looking down.

As John took off, I noticed my hands were shaking. This was the first time I would be separated from Daemon. He was always there. What if something went wrong? How would I find him?

"You'll like the boys," John said, his hand moving to rest on my thigh, "And they'll love you."

He laughed, shaking his head.

"Won't they be surprised? When I told them I was going to get them some companionship, they probably thought I was going to bring back a dog."

He looked over at me contemplatively. He nodded and then pulled the car over between two run-down apartment buildings, parking behind a large bush.

He turned the car off and then looked over at me with a predatory smile.

"I'm the boss, so I should get first dibs, right?" he asked, his hand sliding up under my skirt.

-000-

It was getting dark when we pulled into the underground garage of the secluded office building.

It wasn't a very big building, maybe five stories with white-washed walls and oddly shaped windows. The garage had a few old, beat-up looking cars; nothing like John's big black SUV.

"They live here and work here, at least for a few months, so the boys get pretty lonely. Don't be too shocked if it takes them a while to warm up. They're not the most social of people at the best of times," John said, laughing again as we rode up the elevator.

The doors opened to a living-room like area with mismatched couches, a big-screen TV, game players, and scattered potato chip bags.

"Guys! I'm back with your surprise!" John called loudly, taking off my coat, his hand at the small of my back guiding me to the center of the room.

There was a muffled and garbled response from various locations, the three open doorways and wooden floor making it difficult to understand what was said.

After a few seconds and what sounded like a herd of cattle moving, men started to appear in the doorways, stopping short as they looked at me.

They were a scruffy group, most unshaven and sporting at least a few days growth. One had a little tuft of hair on his chin that looked like it hadn't quite grown in yet, another had a patch under his lip like a caterpillar. They ranged in size from short and skinny, to tall and hunched, to medium and paunchy.

Most wore jeans and t-shirts, or some variation thereof. Some were barefoot, others sporting plain brown sandals.

All together I counted about nine men crowding the doorways.

"Ho-ly…" one man murmured, pushing his square, black-framed glasses up his nose.

"Guys," John announced grandly, "This is Angel. Angel, these are the guys."

The men came further into the room and lined up raggedly, shuffling their feet. The times that they could rip their eyes from me, they looked over at John, their expressions puzzled.

"Hi," the one with the caterpillar beard said softly, forcing a smile.

I smiled at him.

"She doesn't talk," John said dismissively.

They looked over at him and one spoke up.

"So you brought her here for…?"

John laughed.

"What? You want a manual? She's a companion, get my drift?"

There was a murmur as the whispered to each other.

"There's a couple more around here somewhere," John said to me as the men spoke, "Probably upstairs. You'll get to them eventually."

John rolled his eyes as he saw the slightly panicked look on their faces.

"Okay, I'll make this simple. We'll have a sign-up sheet. Everyone gets the same number of hours. We'll schedule time for meals and sleeping for her, and the rest of the time will be broken up equally. Are we clear?"

"How… how long do we… have her for?" one man stuttered.

"We've got her for three nights, so make it count, boys!" John said with a grin.

-000-

They were an odd bunch, to be sure.

They split the time as evenly as they could. The times were 'randomly generated' by the computer, but each of the guys had 'prime time' hours at least one of the nights.

They let me eat whatever was in their kitchen, just off the living room area, while they planned.

It was nice to eat a real meal at a table again.

I knew it was time for my rotation when the squabbling fell down to a low grumble.

My first guy sauntered into the kitchen, visibly wilting when he was out of sight of the rest of the men.

It was the caterpillar one.

"Hi," he said again, shyly, "Um, I'm Ken, would- would you please come with me?" he asked, holding out his hand.

I took his hand, which was cold and damp from nervous sweat, and he led me up the stairs, passing his tittering comrades with false confidence.

By the time I was scheduled to sleep, the guys had gotten a lot more comfortable around me. Sure, they still flushed and shifted every time I walked by, but they also grinned.

It was kind of nice. They were nice.

After breakfast, which was everybody else's lunch, Ken led me to one of the work rooms.

He knocked on the door and then entered, pulling me behind him.

"Hey, Tim, it's your turn," he said, smiling widely.

The man turned away from the computer, rubbing his neck.

"My turn for what?" he asked, his voice light. He froze when he saw me, his blue eyes wide.

Ken chuckled.

"Oh, man, that's right! You and Steve didn't come down last night. This is Angel."

"Hi," Tim said warily.

"She's great," Ken enthused, pushing me towards him lightly, "You've got her till three. Have fun!"

Ken left Tim still gaping, locking the door with a wink and shutting it with a thud.

I waited, pulling lightly on the hem of my nightgown as Tim stared up at me, his brow furrowed.

"Yeah… so, I'm Tim and you're Angel?" he asked and I nodded, "It's nice to meet you, but I'm not really sure what…"

I smiled at him and then walked over and sat in his lap, my legs around his hips.

"Oh!" Tim said in revelation, "Oh, oh, oh, no!" he stuttered, lifting me gently from his lap and standing, backing away slowly.

"I'm not… I mean I…" he cleared his throat, his ears beet red.

I took off my nightgown.

His eyes immediately went to the ceiling, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Please, put it back on," he rasped out, and I looked at him in surprise.

The others had been shy, but was he really not…?

I put the gown back on and he eventually glanced down long enough to realize. He relaxed slightly, rubbing his hands over his face with a long sigh.

"I guess I can't tell you to take a break or something, huh? I don't want the others to think I'm not…" he mumbled, looking up at me sharply, "You won't tell them I didn't want to…?" he asked.

I shook my head, frowning.

"Thanks," he said, sitting back down in his rolling chair, his legs spread wide.

Oh! That's what he liked.

I knelt between his legs and reached for his zipper, stopping when he grabbed my hand.

"What are you _doing_?" he asked, his voice high.

I looked up at him and licked my lips slowly.

He shuddered and closed his eyes, his grip firm around my fingers. Opening his eyes, he stood, helped me to my feet and then sat me on the edge of his desk, falling back into his chair with a sigh.

"Let's be clear, here, okay? I don't want you to do _anything_. Just… just sit here, okay?"

I nodded, biting my lip. Maybe I wasn't pretty enough for him.

He was nice looking, strongly built and not flabby or too skinny. He was a little pale, but they all were. He dressed nicer than most of the others, and his hands were more calloused. He didn't quite seem to fit.

He was watching me and I pulled my braid over my shoulder, deciding to take it down and clean it up a bit while I had the time.

"You do speak English, don't you?" Tim asked worriedly.

"Yes," I said softly, knowing he wanted more than a nod this time.

He relaxed a little, glancing over at his computer screen. Something was loading and had a bit of time left, so he turned towards me fully.

"So, tell me about yourself," he said, quirking a smile.

"Like what?" I asked, shaking my hair loose with a relieved sigh.

"Like… what made you choose to do… this?" he asked, gesturing vaguely towards me.

"Choose to?" I asked, frowning at the persistent tangle that wouldn't come loose.

Tim grabbed my arm and I gasped in surprise. I hadn't heard him move. I looked up at him, suddenly frightened.

"You didn't choose this?" he demanded.

I looked up at him mutely, afraid to speak. What had I said wrong? Why was he angry with me?

He let go of my arm and I flinched away, raising my hands to cover my head.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I mumbled quietly, afraid to move.

"Hey, it's okay," Tim said, his voice gentle, "I'm not going to hurt you."

I lowered my arms and looked over at him.

"I just… Is someone making you do this?" he asked.

I shrugged, pulling at my hair.

"How long have you been…?"

I sighed and looked down. Separating my hair into three long sections, I started braiding it tightly.

"A long, long time," I said quietly.

"Don't you have family? Someone looking for you?"

I flinched, pulling roughly at my hair. I looked up and glared at him.

"My brother was my first master," I said coldly.

He swallowed roughly and I smirked a little.

Finishing my hair, I threw it behind my shoulders and stood, swaying over to him.

"My brother is gone. I have a new master now," I said, touching my collar as I pressed him back into his seat with my presence.

"Don't," he said softly, taking my shoulder and making me back away.

He stood, his hand still on my shoulder. I looked up at him.

Maybe this was it. Maybe now he'd finally kiss me.

He hugged me tightly.

I froze, shocked by the warmth and softness of his arms, the familiar scent that clung to him. Something I could almost identify…

He pulled away and cleared his throat.

"I have a sister," he said, "I'm sorry. I know it doesn't change anything, but I'm sorry."

I shook my head, confused. The scent. There was something…

"What's your real name? I know some people, maybe they can help you."

I looked over at him and frowned deeply. Help me? No one could help me. I was Daemon's. He owned me.

That scent…

"Please," Tim asked, searching my face.

"You smell like a cop," I said quietly.

His face went suddenly blank.

"My name is Angel," I said and then I laid down on the floor, curled up, and closed my eyes.

I felt him lay his jacket over me before I fell asleep.


	14. Chapter 14: It Will Rain

AN: Just a short glimpse into Carlton's head.

I have to give props to my anonymous reviewer TealcIsTheBomb. Your reviews are awesome! I wish you would get an account or sign in or something so I could tell you directly, but this is the next best thing. Hugs! And hugs to you, too Cleo.

Chapter title from Bruno Mars 'It Will Rain'.

"Yeah for you I'll try, I'll try, I'll try, I'll try. I'll pick up these broken pieces 'til I'm bleeding, if that'll make you mine. If I lose you, Baby, just like the clouds my eyes will do the same. Every day it will rain."

**Chapter 14: It Will Rain**

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house there was silence.

It seemed that the festivities of earlier had finally drawn to a close.

I sat on the couch, staring at Henry's Christmas tree, wondering why I had agreed to come down.

I had Angeline's present wrapped. It was in the drawer next to my bed.

Henry, Shawn, and Juliet were in the kitchen. I could hear them chattering amicably as they sipped at the eggnog and picked off the last of the cookies.

I tried to pretend I was fine. Tried to act normal.

I watched as Shawn and Henry had their ridiculous competition. Shawn won, of course. He always wins everything.

Juliet had loved her gifts; Henry rolled his eyes. Mine were neatly stacked next to me on the floor.

O'Ha- Juliet came back into the living room and frowned at me. She didn't think I could see her, but I watched her out of the corner of my eye.

The room was dark, lit only by the tree's multi-colored lights, reflecting off the shiny gold ornaments and the glittery star on top.

She sat next to me on the couch and took the empty mug from my hand.

"Carlton," she said softly and I sighed. I knew that tone.

She didn't say anything else, but she did push me lightly to lie down.

I hadn't slept in days, and she could tell.

She covered me with the blanket that was thrown over the back of the couch; happy red reindeer leaping through a field of dark green.

She sat on the arm of the couch and ran her fingers gently through my hair and I sighed again.

It was familiar; achingly familiar.

Angeline loved my hair; loved touching my face.

I closed my eyes and pretended she was here. That it was her fingers and not my partner's that soothed my nerves.

The smell of pine and wood, sugar cookies and eggnog, quiet voices and the high jingle of bells outside being hit by the light rain.

I drifted off, and I thought I could hear her whisper my name.


	15. Chapter 15: Boulevard of Broken Dreams

AN: The last chapter was so short that I felt sorry for ya'll. So, in the spirit of Thanksgiving, here's the next one. Two in one day! Should be one chapter left from Lassie's POV and then it's on to New Year's Eve(n)!

I have two pictures for this chapter. One is the picture of Tim (a hint for NYE) and the other is the drawing that Angeline talks about. No, I did not draw it. I can't draw. At all. No. It's purely a computer effect that I fooled around with. (Take out the spaces for the links)

Tim: http:/ i1225. photobucket. com/albums/ ee388/Spookysister7/ Other/McGee .jpg

Sketch: http:/ i1225. photobucket. com/albums/ ee388/Spookysister7/ Other/psych_sketch2 .jpg

Chapter title from 'Boulevard of Broken Dreams' by Green Day.

"I walk a lonely road; the only one that I have ever known. Don't know where it goes, but it's home to me and I walk alone."

**Chapter 15: ****Boulevard of Broken Dreams**

My three days were up. Daemon would be here any minute.

John took me down to the garage to wait.

Tim was in the stairwell, watching.

He didn't think I knew he was there, and John didn't, but I knew. He wanted to help me still. He'd followed me around during my meal-times, questioned me when I was his during the night.

But I wouldn't tell him anything.

I didn't want to be rescued. Cop or no cop, I'd learned my lesson. There was no rescue for me. There was nothing beyond Daemon.

I'd just get him killed.

Just like…

No. My master was here now. He pulled up, his plain white car deep in the shadows where Tim couldn't see his plates.

Good.

Daemon got out and walked up to us.

"So, she worth it?" Daemon asked.

"Definitely," John said with a grin, "We'll probably hit you up again in a few weeks."

Daemon nodded happily.

"Any damage?" he asked me.

I shook my head.

"Show me," he ordered, gesturing towards my coat.

I quickly stripped off my coat and nightgown, handing them to John. I stood, shivering, in the cold garage in only my sandals.

Daemon circled around me, scanning. He nodded and gestured for John to give me back my clothes. I put them on.

"Excellent. It's a pleasure doing business with you," Daemon said, shaking John's hand.

He pulled out my leash and clipped it on, leading me to the car.

I glanced over my shoulder, meeting Tim's eyes.

He was horrified. He looked like he was about to jump out and do something, so I shook my head sharply in warning.

I got into the car and we drove home.

-000-

We went back to the clubs that night.

It was Christmas Eve, but some were still open, drunken revelers without families happy to find a group of like-minded individuals seeking solace in each other.

At midnight I was on my fourth guy, but I pulled away long enough to slip into the restroom.

I sat in the stall and carefully loosened it from its secure position at the base of my braid.

A tiny, folded piece of paper, barely bigger than a nickel.

I unfolded it gently.

When I was at the boys' place I'd found a piece of scrap paper, a pencil, and a blue pen.

I drew in secret, during my sleeping time.

It was almost right.

I smoothed it slightly, looking down at the simple grey sketch I'd worked so hard on.

The eyes weren't quite right, the blue a little off, but the look was there.

"Merry Christmas, Carlton," I whispered, running my finger along his cheek.

A single tear fell, wrinkling the edge.

I slowly refolded it and tucked it back where it belonged.

It was time to go back to work.

-000-

It was Christmas Day, and everything was quiet.

I thought we'd take a day off. No one should have been out on Christmas Day; all the stores were closed.

So why was someone knocking on our door?

Judging from the pale sunlight streaming through the crack in the drapes, it wasn't even noon yet.

"Get some clothes on," Daemon growled as he rose from the bed, yanking on his jeans.

I slid back into my leather outfit, finally shoving on the second boot as Daemon finished dressing and threw open the door.

"What?" Daemon snarled.

There was a stout, but imposing man at the door.

His crew-cut and stiff posture practically screamed military.

I shuddered as he looked beyond Daemon and glared at me, his eyes raking down and then back up with a sneer of distaste.

"So, you're the 'lady' that's been fleecing my men," he rumbled angrily.

I shrank back and he turned his eyes to Daemon.

"Who are you? Her accomplice?" he spat.

Daemon seethed and I saw him glance over to his jacket… and his gun.

The military man didn't miss the look either, and he must have guessed what Daemon was thinking because the next thing I knew they were fighting.

The table splintered beneath their combined weight and I screamed a little, crouching in the corner.

Who did I help? The military man was just looking after his men, but he might hurt Daemon and then I'd be alone and what would I do and I wouldn't have anywhere to go and…

But Daemon was going to kill him because he had gotten to his gun and I knew that look, remembered it from when he shot Carlton and he was going to kill someone else and I had to stop him but it was too late and there was a…

Shot.

The military man was on the floor and he was bleeding all over and Daemon was standing above him, gun still smoking and his hand was shaking.

He wiped the blood from his lip and glared over at me.

"Get his wallet," he growled and I stumbled over next to the man and he was dead, dead, dead and I pulled out his wallet and gave my master the cash and touched the bloody hole in the man's back, glad I couldn't see his eyes.

Sirens.

Daemon's head snapped up and I knew that he heard them too and he looked down at me contemplatively.

He went to the door and looked around and then looked back at me.

"Don't tell them anything," he said and then he was gone.

I was alone.

The sirens grew louder and I was crouched next to a dead man, my fingers red with his blood, his wallet in my hand.

His phone rang.

The cheery Jingle Bells vibrated the phone out of his back pocket and onto the floor.

It fell silent and I picked it up, dropping the wallet.

I ran.

The sirens were loud behind me and it was hard to run in the high boots, but I ran.

Where could I go?

John and the boys were too far away. I couldn't run there, not in the cold, the snow falling lightly around me.

Why had he left me? Why hadn't he taken me with him?

His car was gone and I was alone, so alone.

The phone rang again as I clutched it tightly.

Who could I call for help? Tim? But I didn't have his number. I wouldn't take it.

I didn't know anyone else.

I didn't…

Juliet.

Juliet would help me.

Maybe.

I didn't know exactly where I was or where I was going, but maybe she could find Tim.

Maybe she could tell him I was in trouble.

Maybe she'd be forgiving enough to do that much for me, even after…

I fell down beside a dumpster, the snow softening the cement.

Cradling the tiny phone in my hands, I forced myself to remember her number.

It rang.

I held my breath, wincing in anticipation of her voice.

"Hi! You've reached Juliet O'Hara. I'm not available right now, but please leave a message at the beep. Thanks!"

Her happy voice was so familiar I almost couldn't choke out the words.

"J-Juliet…" I whispered, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I-I need your help. I'm in t-trouble. J-just a phone call, that's all I need. J-just call a man named Tim, h-he's a…"

I screamed and dropped the phone when someone grabbed my arm. I heard it fall with a splash into the nearby drain.

No.

"You're under arrest," the man said, his dark overcoat all I could see as he spun me around and snapped on the cuffs, "You have the right to remain silent…"


	16. Chapter 16: The Promise

AN: Last chapter of Christmas Mourning! Now onto New Year's Eve(n)!

Had myself some trouble with ET verses PT. Darn those time zones! Screwed up my whole time frame.

Chapter title from 'The Promise' by Tracy Chapman.

"If you wait for me, then I'll come for you. Please say you'll be waiting. Together again: it would feel so good to be in your arms, where all my journeys end."

**Chapter 16: The Promise**

I woke very early on Christmas morning.

The rain had stopped sometime in the night and I felt well-rested, even though my back was twanging slightly from being curled up on the couch.

Today I was not going to mope around.

Today I was going to get things done.

I took a quick shower, shaved, and put on my warmest working clothes.

By the time I got back to the kitchen, Henry was already up and had the coffee ready.

"Merry Christmas," he said quietly.

I half-smiled and nodded in return.

"I'm going to go work on the house," I said as I quickly downed a cup of coffee and poured some into a thermos.

"Sounds good," Henry responded, still sipping at his cup.

I stepped out into the morning sunlight, the breeze cool and crisp against my cheeks.

Grabbing my tool box and belt, I walked determinedly over the dune.

-000-

I was splattered with cream-colored paint, my fingers sticky on the rolling brush handle as I stretched to get the corner of the ceiling.

I got it and let the brush fall to the tarp as I stretched my sore shoulders.

The living room ceiling was complete.

I heard voices and car doors slam close by.

Who on Earth?

Cautiously emerging out of the front door, I looked up towards the driveway.

Shawn waved happily at me as he lowered the tailgate on his father's truck and yanked out a couple of buckets of paint.

"Need some help?" Henry called, brushes in hand.

O'Hara drove up a minute later in her ridiculous VW Bug. She grinned down at me and tugged at the brim of her white baseball cap and matching painter's jumpsuit.

"But it's Christmas," I protested as they trooped into the house.

"Exactly," O'Hara countered, brushing her lips against my cheek before going over to supervise Shawn.

"Just accept it, Carlton," Henry said, grasping my shoulder as I looked ready to protest further.

"You're family," Shawn added with a grin.

"I think that's an insult," I muttered quietly, smirking.

We worked until noon and actually got a lot accomplished, despite Shawn's continual complaints about overtime pay and the difference between eggshell and crème.

Finally we were all hungry (and could take no more threats of passing out from starvation), so we took a break, eating on the front porch to get away from the paint fumes.

"I think I'm getting high in there," Shawn commented, scarfing down the thick ham sandwich Henry had made from leftovers.

"You were born high, Kid," Henry said with a roll of his eyes and Juliet snorted in amusement.

Shawn pouted for a second before taking another sandwich.

There was a faint chirp.

We all looked at each other blankly, trying to figure out what the sound was before Juliet's face cleared and she laughed.

"Oh! I changed my notification tone. Someone must have left a voicemail," she said, pulling out her phone, "The signal's pretty bad in the house. Must have blocked the call."

"Who'd be calling you today?" Shawn mumbled around his bite of ham.

"Probably my Mom. I talked to her earlier, but she always calls me a couple times on the holidays," Juliet said with a shrug, dialing her voicemail and listening intently.

She paled.

"What's wrong?" I asked immediately, setting down my sandwich.

Henry and Shawn stopped eating and waited for her response, but she just continued to listen.

"Oh. My. God." She said finally, her voice just above a whisper.

"What is it?" Shawn asked.

"Something wrong at home?" Henry said, sounding concerned.

"I… She…" Juliet floundered, uncharacteristically lost for words. She looked over at me and my stomach sank.

"Just listen," she said finally, setting her phone down and putting it on loudspeaker.

"You have one new message," the robotic voice said, "Message One…"

"J-Juliet…"

Angeline. She sounded so scared, terrified.

I rose to my feet, fighting to keep from leaping through the phone to find her.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I-I need your help. I'm in t-trouble."

In trouble. She was in trouble. How had she gotten away from Daemon? Where was she? Was she okay? What was she sorry for?

"J-just a phone call, that's all I need."

What? Why would she call O'Hara for a phone call? Why would she call O'Hara and not me if she needed help? If she'd escaped?

"J-just call a man named Tim,"

A man. But not me. Who was he? How would he help her? Why didn't she call me?

"h-he's a…"

She screamed.

My whole body convulsed with the effort to hold myself together as I heard her scream and then nothing.

Just silence.

The robot came back.

"Message received at 8:52 AM. You have no more messages."

She'd called hours ago.

I forced my eyes up from the little pink phone, looking around at the three people standing beside me.

"She's alive," Shawn whispered, sounding surprised.

"Track the number," Henry ordered, handing Juliet her phone.

O'Hara nodded sharply.

"We'll find her," she said, meeting my eyes confidently.

Angeline was alive.

And I'd stopped looking.

"We'll find her," O'Hara said again, tugging at my arm.

We ran up the hill towards her car.

I'd find her.

I'd save her.

My Angeline.


End file.
